Great Fight: A Twilight Tommy Tale
by GitariArt
Summary: Tommy wakes up miserably in a world that is not right and has to come to terms with what has happened to him and the rest of the volunteer patients of a drug test study gone Wyrd. Based on a Changeling the Lost campaign. This book has already been written; its seventeen chapters. This is my first writing project: supportive comments and constructive criticism welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Great Fight: A Twilight Tommy Tale

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Straight Lane Group.

DISCLAIMER

This GitariArt project is based on story elements conceived and edited by my partner with input and composed by me. I have interpreted and authored the plot ideas presented by my partner, in an effort to honor and spread her wonderful imagination as well as convey my own attitude within the context of the story.

Some characters and plots have been partially inspired by published White Wolf products. Otherweise any resemblance to people living, dead, or fictional is coincidental.

THE CAST

Dark Sol … … … … Solanna- 5'4", Grad Student (Lit),

Gavin Granitbane … … Hank - 6'1"/6'3", fireman, weightlifter

Iron Wade the Man of Steel … Ken - 6'2", fencer, teacher, divorcée.

Lightning Russel … … Mike - 5'11"/5'8", programmer, lay-about

Lonewolf Freerunner … Kyle - 5'9", driver

Rai … … … … … Leroy - 6'4"/6'6", engineer

Sean Tallwind … … … Milton - 5'10"/5'8", detective

Tegan Bramblerose … Gerri - 5'3", ROTC

Twilight Tommy … … Tom - 6'0"/5'10", car-guy, student, poet

Introduction

It started inauspiciously. They came together at Kendal and shuffled through the check-in lines. The tall, muscular forty-something guy and the bubbly blond lady were amongst the few that made small talk with their respective neighbors. A few others, like the crisply-dressed lady, peered around scrutinizing everything. Most people just kept to themselves. At the front of each line, a nurse went over the rules again, had each participant sign their contract, and assigned a room.

The Kendal building was two stories tall and typically nondescript, boxy for an office structure from the last decade of the twentieth century. The tiled floors, dry walls, and drop ceilings of the interior were clean, yet seemed dingy from age—everything was just off-white, or not quite beige anymore. The generic office spaces had been repurposed for almost medical use, narrow beds instead of cube farmed desks, extra toilets instead of storage closets, and so forth. The whole building had that antiseptic mixed with human bodies odor for which clinics and old age homes are well known.

They were there for the weekend. Pills every four hours, observed for one night, and to be checked out at five o'clock Sunday. Then return in a week, repeat the process, and get paid $1050. That is what they all thought. Maybe they did not hear what they did not want to hear. Maybe they could only hear what Dr. Anwyn's staff wanted them to hear. Maybe they just remember that is what they thought.

Six were assigned to room 106. There were two women, including the bubbly blond and the brunette, classically pretty even without make-up and in over-pressed clothes. Of the men, all were tall, the quiet African-American tallest by a couple of inches and the youngest kid "shortest" by just as much. Some of them wondered about the co-ed quartering, but never quite mustered enough concern to mention the peculiarity.

As they entered room 106, a nurse handed each a small Rubber-Maid tote and set of scrubs. The participants took turns using the bathroom (toilet & sink, no tub or shower) at the back of the Spartan room. Each person changed into their scrubs and left everything else, especially wallets and jewelry, in the totes. Only a small armful of personal items were allowed to each participant—books, cards, and the like. The two chatter-boxes (Hank and Solanna) kept up their running commentaries on nothing in particular. The black man ignored everyone. The sandy brown haired, stern-eyed girl made sure to change last. The full totes were labeled with the participant's names and carted off.

The participants picked their "personal" areas for the weekend. Room 106 was located in the rear corner of the buildings ground floor. A few barred windows overlooked the side Kendal parking lot. The room had three doors, one to the hall, one to the unisex toilet, and an emergency exit direct to the rear parking lot. The interior was a shared ward, hospital style layout. Eight single sized beds, each with a nightstand (one shallow drawer) and a slightly padded chair. The furnishings were not hospital grade; they were Ikea or Wal-Mart brands at best. Each sleeping area did have a hospital style, curtained area, that allowed minimum privacy. There was also a pair of card tables in the center of the mostly off white room.

The participants tried to settle in as best they could. The large black guy laid on his bed and read a tech magazine. His feet extended well beyond the end of the mattress. Hank and Solanna chatted and tried to get others to participate. The tense, shapely girl, Gerri, half flipped through a Guns & Ammo and chatted. Ken, the grumpy guy, also responded to small talk, as he moved around trying to find a more comfortable chair, or a comfortable way to sit on the bed. The young guy, Tom, listened and replied when addressed, but was more interested in the laptop he had brought.

The clean shaven and tanned, Hank and the pale, mid-twenty-ish pleasantly plump Solanna's chatted in that openly gregarious way of extroverts around strangers. Not rude, but maybe a little intrusive, if you are not a people person: easy to react noncommittally to, but hard to avoid. It slowly drew everyone in, even Leroy, the standoffish engineer—especially when we had no television, radio, or internet access.

Within a couple of hours everyone pretty much realized that they did not have enough to occupy there own time, so they wound up sharing more with each other than most had planned. The full names they gave, were either too unimportant or too valuable—depending on how you consider such things—to give away here.

Hank was the oldest at 45 years, then Ken in his early thirties, the rest were in their mid-twenties, except for Tom, who would not be twenty-one until the following March. Hank, Ken, and Gerri were all well fit. Hank was a fireman and hobbyist body builder. Ken taught Fencing at the university. Gerri was in ROTC and as a woman had to strive harder than the guys. Leroy the lack of muscle tone of someone that worked at a desk all day and a game console most of the rest of the time. Solanna and Tom fell somewhere between, she looked soft but not flabby, he looked like a collection of broomsticks held together by softballs.

They all admitted to joining Dr. Anwyn's research for the money. Hank had the most unusual reason out of the six for volunteering for the Kendal study. At least unusual in that he did not have the same kind of desperation. Hank could have waited for one of his firemen buddies to need some help with construction. He claimed most firemen moonlight as contracts or the like. However, Hank had a couple of sisters that he half supported, and he thought the Kendal study would be more interesting than waiting to hang dry wall.

Ken became more congenial as he explained that he needed the $1050 because of his divorce. It had just finalize and she had gotten the far better end of the deal. Venting seemed to relax Ken.

The other four were more similar. Leroy had graduated the engineering program over the summer term and his job started in January. Gerri's folks only covered the absolute necessities while she was in school. The bursars office had screwed up the disbursement of a bunch of Financial Aid checks, including Solanna's and Tom's. Do, all four of them needed the Kendal payout to cover expenses for a short term.

Tom had recognized Solanna from the English Department, although he had never actually met her—she was taking graduate classes for her PhD and he had just transferred his undergrad from the architecture program. Gerri had taken Ken's elective fencing class a few semesters earlier, but they had not really talked then. Otherwise, they were all strangers to each other. Even though all, except Hank, were connected to the university.

All inauspicious, to the point of almost dull. Until that night…

Day 1

I was being shook awake by the grumpy guy… Ken, yeah he had said he was Ken. I was way more tired than I should have been, sore too-disoriented, to say the least. I recognized ken which reminded me of the Kendal and room 106. I recalled that I had went to bed just before eleven. Most of the others had already started breathing the deep, steady breaths of sleep, behind their privacy curtains by the time I had closed my laptop…. Then dark sleep… then the shaking.

As I looked around I realized that I was in a different bed than I had been and I was on the covers not under. I had no shirt and bare feet. My scrub's pants were ragged and muddy, as were my feet. The room looked almost as disheveled, beds jostled out of place, leaves on the floor, and the like. One bedside lamp was lit. Solanna was waking Gerri, also in the wrong bed. The two biggest in our group, Leroy and Hank, were slumped on either side of a side door—an emergency exit direct to outside. It looked like they had fallen asleep while standing guard.

"Huh?" I said, as I realized Ken and Solanna had been talking.

"Are you okay? What's the last thing you remember?" Ken repeated.

"I… I think so. I remember going to sleep around eleven."

Solanna jumped in. "Did you see the nurse with the slugs?!... Wait, no of course not. You were the first one she hit."

Gerri seemed to recover faster than me. She tried to calm the other woman, while instructing me and Ken to wake the other two. As we did, we went around several times on the conversation rollercoaster. "Are you okay?" "What happened?" "What do you remember?" "Did you see the nurse putting giant slugs on our mouths?" "Is this the same place?" "Where's are stuff?" "How I get over here?" "What do you mean slugs?" "What happened to my slippers?" and so on.

I remember thinking that I should be more upset or panicked, as we kept talking over each other. However, I decided I was too tired and confused to waist any effort on frustration or anger.

Eventually we sorted a few things out. Too few really, but it was the best we could do. We did remember each other and the drug study we joined. We were all sore and tired, as if we had been doing a lot of manual labor for a long time. Solanna especially looked paler and much thinner than before, her wavy hair limp. No one had any footwear and all our feet were muddy to mid-calf, most of our hands, too. The mud had mostly dried, but only mostly. It seemed to be some time after midnight and well before dawn. There were no working clocks in the room and only the one functional lamp. It made Room 106 extra eerie and the sound of baying hounds outside only made it worse.

Solanna was not the only one of us that looked different in that one dim light. Somehow we all looked a bit off, yet not all in the same sickly way Solanna seemed. At least I assume we all look odd beyond the haggard and dirty qualities, I had no way to see my own appearance—at least what I could see seemed normal. After Soanna, Hank was the most unusual, the muscleman's natural tan looked more like a bad spray-on. Similarly, Leroy skin seemed darker, more like true black than dark brown. Ken appeared more weathered and older than before. Geri by far was the best off, somehow she looked more disheveled than beaten, it was almost like she was a television star version of messed up, while the rest of us were truly grimy. Gerri's hair seem shimmery and redder than before.

There was one other trait the others all seemed to share. I noticed that I kept trying to stand straighter, feeling like I was slouching for some reason. Then I realized I had not been slouching, rather I felt like the others had grown—some ore than other—just enough to make me feel like my head was lower than it should be.

Solanna recounted. "I had been drifting off to sleep, when a nurse entered, quietly pushing a cart with what seemed like jars on it. She went around to each of you and did something near your heads. At first I thought it was just another round of pills. So, I figured I stay put and wait my turn."

"The thing is, Gerri was in the bed next to me and we had not bothered with the dividing curtain. And there was light from the parking lot coming through the windows." When Solanna said this, I realized there was no such light now. "So, I could see Gerri's sleeping face turned towards me. The nurse got Gerri second to last. I thought she was going to gently wake Gerri and give some pills. I could just make out the nurse placing something glistening wet over Gerri's nose and mouth."

We also remembered our full names. However, I have since learned how valuable such things are. So, if you want to know our true names, you shall have to find us and bargain for each in turn. I guarantee mine, at least, is no longer as cheap as $1050.

"I freaked." Solanna continued, meeting each of our eyes with a mixture of conviction and pleading. "I jumped out of bed and tried to run for the hallway. I could tell you all had large clear-ish slugs on your faces."

"The bitch nurse grabbed me and tried to slap one of the slimy things on my face. She missed and it hit my back. I felt drugged immediately and stumbled. She got one on my face then, and I blacked out."

"Then I woke up in the wrong bed and started waking you."

The next couple of hours were like a horror movie come to life, one of those you-never-quite-see-it kind. Outside, the lights of the parking lot were out and the street lights were not near by. The howling dogs seemed close, so no one wanted to go out into the dark November night. We stayed together and searched the main floor of the building. It was abandoned, no phones, computers, files, or much of anything- definitely no people. At least not on the ground floor and no response came to our calling up and down the stairwells. It was empty and it seemed like it had been so for months, dust covered most surfaces and the air smelled musty like an attic. The heating system seemed to be functioning, but set somewhere in the sixties. We could not find a thermostat control, so we did a lot of shivering in our barely-clothed states.

Our first clue to what had happened came when we found an "active" room. At the far end of the building room 101 was full of industrial-sized refrigeration units. Each was filled with packets of blood, labeled like Red Cross donations. There were pick up/drop off logs hanging on each fridge. Ken noticed the dates were weird. Access seemed to happen roughly every six months. The last one was three in early September… 2011, seven years after our check in date. Creepy enough for me, but Ken pointed out the logs went back a few years.

"So," I asked from near the door—I had no interested in getting closer to machines that made more cold air, "they've been collecting blood for a long time? Kendal is a medical company, it seems like that's up their alley."

Ken shook his head and replaced the clipboard. "This wasn't hear yesterday. I distinctly remember other participants being assigned to room 101."

"Hey, yeah," Gerri snapped her fingers and pointed at Ken, "you're right. In fact there were eight people to a room, except for us in the last one assigned."

Hank then had the idea to check the ventilation system. Apparently, a properly maintained facility has regular checks. He reasoned that, "If this was a legit bio storage building, then the inspector will have marked the furnace door. Several of us were clinging to the hopes that this was a practical joke, maybe a reality TV gimmick. The furnace showed last checked October 13th, 2011… That was too much. We checked in Novermber 6th, 2004. The idea that a prank would be that thorough was not possible to accept.

I had to go.

My mind was reeling and I was not exactly surefooted physically. I kept trying to think of something that would make sense. All my thoughts turned out like the prank idea—evidence sort of fit to a point, then something happened to disprove the idea. I felt like I was trapped in my own head, running in broken logic circles. The abandoned building only made it worse.

The one remotely good thing we did find was a closet with some spare scrubs and cheap blankets. I grabbed a shirt, made strips out of some of the bed sheets, and tied my feet in bundled blankets. The baying of the hounds had faded into the distance. The parking lot lights were out, but closer to the road there seemed to be a convenience store. We agreed that it was not there the day before, but it was there now. The others also bundled their feet and wrapped in blankets as best they could

I am glad they came with me, rather than waiting for daylight. First because I am not sure my resolve alone would have kept me moving. Second because when the hounds returned, I would not have been able to deal with them.

I was convinced that I, or we, were hallucinating from whatever pills we were given. Thus, helping to explain the off-ness to our appearances, at the very least. But I could not shake the idea that if I was hallucinating, then why was the pain, cold, and sense of time so consistent with my normal life? It made me think of the old adage, "Only sane people worry that they are crazy"…or is it a fallacy not an adage?

We got to the convenience store and it was open. It was well-lit inside and had a partially-lit parking area. The BP station next door, on the other hand, was lit like a beacon. The newspaper machines had papers dated Monday, November 7th 2011, but they looked like they had not been filled since yesterday. It was certainly cold enough to be November. Luckily, there was little breeze to exacerbate the crisp chill. My feet were still painfully numb, anyway.

I entered the small shop and the door had bells that jangled. An older-looking Asian lady sat behind the counter watching some talk show on a tiny, old, television. There was a long-haired dog near the door. It was that Asian breed that looks more like a lion than a dog and it was around the size of a terrier. It had three tails. That rattled me, but I figured it could have been a genetic defect (like multi-dactyl cats), or it could be I was seeing things. As I tried to get my bearings, the dog stood and started breathing hard. Not exactly a growl, but certainly not inviting.

None of my companions had followed me in, they huddled outside for some reason. If I am feeling generous, I imagine they thought I looked most needy—like a grown up Dickensian orphan, in my rags—thus more likely to be given aid. Actually, I just think they all wanted to see how bad I would crash and burn before they made an effort.

The store was properly warm and smelled of spices for more exotic than black pepper.

I stayed by the door and called to the woman, "Excuse me."

She barely glanced at me, through coke bottle glasses. "You go!" In a thick accent, I guessed was Chinese.

Meanwhile, the dog was staying in place, but getting larger. It was waist high and increasing. My stomach lurched and my mind flipped—not for the first time since waking. I would have run screaming, if I had not feared the emptiness outside more. It was not empty of course, but I felt like it was at the time.

I kept my eyes on the creature and gave communication one last valiant effort. "Er…"

"Nothing here for you! You go!" The woman snapped again. Not even looking away from the television this time.

The dog was pulsing. Like a balloon being inflated and deflated in turns. Only on each inflation it was bigger than the last. It was almost to my shoulder.

I backed out of the store and closed the door.

Each of us looked like a homeless person at best. All together, asylum escapees was the only reasonable conclusion- which made me worry that I had not considered that I might be mad. The others had not been able to see into the store very well. The door was glass, but plastered with ads. After a brief discussion Ken and Gerri decided to go in and try again. They had not really believed me about the dog, as none of us really believed Solanna about the slugs.

We had agreed that our best bet was to call the police. We had no money or IDs. Worst case scenario, they would put us in a drunk tank. If we got lucky, they would place us in a homeless shelter and let social services deal with our story. Most likely, we were going to end up in a loony bin, No matter what, each involved warm interiors with other people and maybe food, clothes, and a cot.

While the others had discussed our plan and Ken tried to get the shopkeeper to help, I continued to try and decide what had happened to us. I Stayed as much in the middle of out group as possible and tried to stay alert, while chasing more and more impossible options around my head. Since all the reasonable ideas had broken down, I turned to fiction... It could be a mass Borne Identity deal... Maybe aliens used Kendal as a cover? Of all the conspiracies I came up with then, the ones that seemed most likely were the hallucinogens. Either, it was a Total Recall variation, where I was really still in the Kendal and merely imagining the time and property loss. In which case, all the people I was with were manifestations of my own psyche. Or, we did break out of Kendal, but the hallucinations made us see tattered clothes and wrong dates and so on. For the next few hours, I vacillated back and forth believing one or the other of the last two ideas.

Without money, we were relying on the clerk to either be kind and call as we asked, or disturbed and call the police reporting us as vagrants. Gerri was inside, but stayed near the door. Ken had ventured further. After less than a minute those of us huddled outside could hear Ken yelling at the woman, but the closed door made the specific words indistinguishable. It went on for a while.

When the pair came out Ken had a new T-shirt on over his scrubs, a trucker cap, and a quart of whiskey. They had not expected that even stealing from her woman would not provoke her into calling the police. Looking back now, I believe that she honestly thought we were safer without the authorities. I still do not agree, though.

The baying hounds sounded closer again. I quickly led the movement to the BP. It was a small station. The clerk was inside a little booth of bullet proof glass, reading a text book. The rest of the interior of the building could barely hold three people, in addition to its standing refrigerators full of beverages. Solanna and I went in and asked the clerk to call the police. He was clearly disturbed by the group of us, Once he got over that mild shock, he pulled out a cell phone and made the call.

In the meantime, Gerri and Ken had started drinking the whiskey. Hank tried to advise against the drink, "It won't help our case with the cops." He said. Of course this was from a man dressed as an escaped mental patient and carrying around a fire extinguisher. He had found it at the Kendal building and claimed it was the best weapon he could find. I figured as a fireman it was just comforting for him. Leroy remained stoically uncommunicative, as we would come to realize is his way.

The hounds came. Gerri noticed them first. They amassed in the wood's underbrush, behind the BP, only their eyes could be seen reflecting more light than was available as they stayed to the darkness. Gerri came in and stole some beef jerky and tried to lure the dogs closer. She returned to the front of the station a little more unsettled than she had been before.

"There's something wrong with those dogs." Gerri told the group outside—I could hear her, slightly muffled, through the slots in the attendant's glass. One of the men asked what she meant and she replied, "I figured I could see what they were like. I stayed in the light and tossed a piece of jerky outside the pool of light, but away from the woods. Then a hunting hound, maybe greyhound mixed with a heavier breed, came out. It must have been the alpha male, 'cause when the others went to follow him, he gave them a look and low growl and none of the others left the wood cover. The alpha move to the jerky and was looking around, like it was checking to make sure it was not in site of the clerk or any of the security cameras… if that's even possible. Anyway, it gets to the jerky, sniffed the treat, stared at me, and urinated on the jerky."

"The thing is, I got the feeling it knew exactly what it was doing. Like it was challenging me."

If I was crazy, I was not the only one… Not a comforting thought. Either Hank or Ken—I could not tell which from inside the BP—tried to reassure Gerri, and the rest of us, by claiming she was over-tired.

After about fifteen minutes, a patrol car arrived with one officer and a man in the back.

After making Hank relinquish his extinguisher, the cop had us all stand with our hands on his car, while he got the clerk's statement. We probably would have refused to comply, if he had not parked well within the BP's light pool.

As it was, I only regretted not being allowed to sit inside the locked car to wait. I regretted it a little less when we got a look at the Guy already seated there. He was naked, except for a police blanket. I think it was Gerri or Hank who recognized the guy from the Kendal check in lines yesterday (at least I was still thinking of it as yesterday). We chatted quietly with the guy, while the officer was occupied with the clerk. His name was Kyle.

Kyle was maybe five foot ten, with short, straight, mousy brown hair. He had a short mustache and beard and seemed fairly hirsute in general. He was in his early thirties. Other than the hair, he seemed to have a swimmers build. I felt like I could not place something about him at the time. I decided that I was better to not figure it out, rather than stare at the guy with only a blanket for clothes.

Kyle told us his brief tale. "Yeah, I was at Kendal, yesterday, Room 105. The day seemed normal. At least like we were told to expect. We all went to bed around the same time. Then I woke up on the river bank, cold and naked."

"I picked myself up and headed towards the nearest buildings with lights. I made it to a suburb. I was trying to think what to do next, when officer Kovacs picked me up. That was about five minutes before he got the call to come here."

According to the clock on the patrol car's dashboard, it was close to 5:00 am. Eventually, Kovacs resolved to take us in and he called a paddy wagon. The back of the van was poorly heated, but it was away from the hounds and taking us farther. By the time it arrived and we all got loaded in (Kyle as well), it was after 5:30. After 6:00 by the time we were unloaded into O'Bleness Memorial Hospital, the sky had started to lighten.

We were placed in an examination room large enough for all of us with two policemen guarding the door. Our captors/saviors were not particularly forthcoming. However, we did get enough to understand that we had to be checked out for any preexisting wounds or illnesses, before they would lock us up for vagrancy. They also seemed hopeful that the doctors might declare us mentally unstable. Then the cops could give us to a psych center and be done with us. I am still not sure which I would have preferred- not that either ultimately mattered.

The first nurse ushered us into a large, unoccupied, multi-person exam room. As a teaching hospital this is where student nurses could meet as a class and practice on a new patients in group, while still being overseen by only one instructor. Our nurse handed out new scrubs for each of us. Then she left, presumably to get a doctor.

Two more were added to our ranks by the time we were waiting in the hospital. I can not recall if they were collected into our paddy wagon on the way, or if they were in the room first, or added after us. I was kind of in my own head and not really paying as much attention to my surrounding as I probably should have. No matter what they wore our uniform, Kendal scrubs—muddy and tattered. Plus, they recognized Kyle and he them, from Room 105.

Milton was the same height as Kyle, a couple of inches shorter than me. He seemed to be a little older than Hank, maybe fifty. His hair was dull brown and he had five o'clock shadow. He had no muscle tone, but was not overweight. He claimed to have been a local private investigator, looking into Kendal.

Mike was our shortest dude at around five foot nine. His hair was light blond and he was clean shaven. He seemed a little overweight and a lot under exercised. He was a couple of years older than me. He said he was a computer programming major.

Both men gave me the same odd feeling as Kyle. Like there was something wrong with my eyes. I tried not to look at them.

Their stories started the same as the rest of us and ended like Kyle's—In a suburb near the river getting picked up by the police. Except Milton and Mike had actually approached a house and asked for the police to be called.

Milton explained, "I woke up on the river bank, half in the water. Mike was next to me and slipping more into the river. After I grabbed him and shook him awake, we crawled up the bank." The older man spoke in a grim monotone that I thought might have come form watching too many Humphrey Bogart movies.

"Kendal backed on the river and I recognized it in the moonlight, even though the building was completely dark. We also saw a lot of movement on the ground near the building. It looked like a few people and a lot of dogs." There were audible intakes of breath from several of us. Milton continued, "One guy help put someone else inside and closed the door, just as a bunch of the dogs swarmed him and tore him apart."

"That's when I realized, that what I thought was other people on the lawn, were just corpses and parts." Milton watched our reactions as he told his tale.

"Not knowing what else to do, we slid back to the river. Swam for a while, Came up on the far bank and headed to the nearest lights."

Since no-one else had been in the Kendal building with my group, I assumed the person that Milton saw getting killed had just saved Leroy or Hank. Assuming any of this was real in the first place, of course. Which also made me think the mystery man had probably saved us all. I did not mention my revelation to the others, I could not see how it mattered now that the guy was dead; we couldn't even collect his body for burial.

While Milton spoke, we each took turns at the rooms sink to wash up as best we could. And behind one of the privacy curtains to change into the fresh scrubs—complete with new non-skid slipper-socks. Gerri had to help Solanna. The pale blond lady had been more exhausted than any of the rest of us to start with and in the sharp lighting she looked real sickly, almost dead.

In fact we all looked odd. I scrubbed my face, neck and hands, so maybe I could not fool myself about the distortions cause by dirt anymore, or maybe the sharp smell of the hospital's cleaning gel woke me up a bit more. Whatever the case, I finally got a good look in a mirror, it was like my vision snapped into focus. The problem I had been having was that I was trying to see my fellows as they had been, as I remembered people should look, while my eyes kept showing me what they had become. Seeing the change in me shattered my ability to pretend they were still normal.

I looked younger, even shorter, by at least two inches. Like my thirteen year old appearance had been stretched onto my seventeen year old frame. Hence why I felt like the others had grown. I had a flash a panic that I would half to go through the last spurt of growing pains again. I was richly tanned, my skin almost glowed golden in even in the harsh florescent lighting. My once brown irises now looked like golden amber, as if actual rings of amber gems had been inset into my eyes. My ears were pointed, even to my touch they felt tapered to peeked tips, just long enough to poke trough my shoulder length hair. And my hair while the same length as before was much lighter brown and streaked with stripes of bright, yet natural-looking blond.

We had portioned the room of with some privacy curtain. There were not enough separate areas for everyone, so we took turns to change into our new O'Bleness issued scrubs. The section I used had a medieval scale with height measure, I used it to confirm that I was indeed 5'10", not my normal six foot even. More disturbing, as I changed clothes, I discovered several scars on my back, It was hard to get a good angle to see, but the worst scar ran from my lower back and most of the length of my left thigh. It seemed like the wound must have been deep and jagged whenever it happened, although it was clearly long since healed.

I brought my observations to the other's attention and they all had there own moments of revelation and personal discovery.

Leroy's skin was indeed darker than before and his eyes were brighter with slit pupils, like a cat's, on a face that had somehow widened. The mechanical engineer's ears were also pointed, although his were more triangular and set higher up his head than normal. I watched those ears twitch and flex like an animal's. Leroy confirmed that he was also 6'6", but should be 6'4".

While it was not exactly an aspect of Leroy's appearance, I had also noticed chills when near him. Originally, I was attributed the feeling to the weather and general terror I had been experiencing. When I mentioned it to the rest of our group, they tested and conformed that when close to Leroy the air just seemed about 5 degrees cooler.

Gerri, like me, seemed younger and possibly prettier than before. Her hair was a rich and luxurious auburn and her eyes were like emeralds around ebony set into pale ivory. The ROTC student claimed her height had not altered, yet I suspect her other measurements had become more curvy—and in boxy scrubs that's saying something. Geri's pristine pale skin fairly glowed with vitality. Plus, even though we had just washed and changed, the bombshell smelled like a bed of flowers and looked like she was wearing rose red lipstick and pale green eye-shadow.

Our fireman/body builder had skin the color of terracotta with weird two inch wide bands of yellower coloring around his wrists and throat. Additionally Hank looked like he had been rough cut out of cinder blocks, his skin had a pebbly texture and all of his joints and edges seemed like sharp corners. I wondered if this is what a half finished statue would look like. Hank also reported a couple of inches of extra height. And once clean, we discovered that the faint scent of wood smoke we all had been smelling seemed to be coming directly from Hank, who tried to dismiss it as an occupational hazard of being a fireman.

Ken had also grown a couple of inches reaching Leroy's old height of 6'4", but was thinner and his hands and lower arms were criss-crossed with hundreds of scars. Like mine, the fencing Professor's scars were long-since healed, unlike mine, his all seemed short and fine. I also still thought Ken looked almost twenty years older. Also, like Geri and Hank, the divorcée seemed to be generating a perpetual aroma, in his case the distinct odor of damp fall leaves.

In addition to Solanna's skin being chalky pale and almost translucent, her once wheat blond wavy hair had become bone straight, dull platinum white. The Lit GA's eyes were also paler and grey rather than blue. It was almost like Solanna had become an emaciated living black and white photograph. And when Geri helped the weakened girl change she discovered black tattoos along either side of Solanna's spine. The tats might have been Arabic writing. Like Leroy, the sallow woman had a chill about her, however her's was a hair-raising eerie feeling, rather than any temperature shift.

Looking with a clearer sight, Milton resolved into a more wrinkled and wind blown appearance—not just older like Ken, but also like he had gained a lot of weight over a long period and recently lost it quickly. the excess skin may have been a result of his shorter stature—like me he had lost two inches, yet my skin was smoother than ever. Worst of all for the PI, his whole left side seemed to have suffered sever burns at some point long past—burns of which he claimed to have no memory. Also, Milt's fingers had become at least an inch longer and thinner than seemed natural. For some reason, this man's new scent was of a fresh April rain.

Mike's hair was not actually light blond, it was cloud white and floated lazily, independent of gravity or any air in the room. The programmer was around five eight, but claimed to have shrunk by a couple of inches and his hands, feet, knees, and elbows were green as if stained by grass, yet no amount of scrubbing could change them.

Lastly, Kyle claimed to have a small, furry tail that he insisted he had not had before. The athletically built man was hirsute, even having long, cat-like whiskers from either side of his nose. Kyle claimed that his face, like Leroy's, had also widened and his ears were hirer up the sides of his head. Although, Kyle's ears were small and rounded and his eyes small and black, like a woodland creature's. Instead of odd coloring or odor, when close to the fuzzy man, a rushing water sound could be heard, like far off rapids in flood.

We had been left alone quite a while, so we had started to drift into our own inner pools of stunned contemplation, when a nurse came in to do a preliminary check on us. Our first priority was to draw the healthcare worker's attention to Solanna's rapidly flagging state. After a quick once over, the nurse verified we had been given no refreshments, was mildly annoyed at the oversight, and went to get us juice and cookies. It was clear that the woman thought we were all just malnourished homeless.

The nurse did not seem to react to any of the oddities we had just discovered about ourselves. We still had not ruled out mass hallucination, so we did not mention the altered sizes or inexplicable sounds and smells. At least, that is why I didn't speak up. I assumed the others remained quiet for the same reason.

Even with the physical alterations and being in a type of police custody, with newspapers, knowing the time, seeing the sun start to rise, police cars—any cars really, hospital rooms, nurses, each new mundane thing reintroduced to us, we each seemed to grow more composed and confident. Plus, with sitting secure in the police van and the exam room, we had time to think without having to worry about immediate safety. So, we seriously started to think about next moves. Inevitably, that meant contacting relatives or friends.

There was a phone on the wall and Gerri got to it first. Standard dial 9 for an outside line and the pretty lady called her brother. The call did not go well.

"Hi, John," Gerri said into the phone with a controlled relief in her voice, "it's Gerri. Sorry it's so early…" Gerri paused to listen, then said, "I don't know how they are. I'm in Athens."

Pause, while Gerri listened.

"Athens, Ohio," Gerri snapped a little, her relief turned to frustration. "How the hell would I get to Greece?"

Pause.

"I'm in the hospital here, the police picked me up for vagrancy…"

Short pause.

"What medication?"

Longer pause.

"What does that mean, John? You think I live with mom and dad?"

Gerri was getting more and more flustered; as she listened to who I assumed was her brother, as he apparently tried talked to her like she needed constant parental care. Hank, Ken, and I seemed to be the only ones paying attention to Geri's situation. I felt like I was the only one who saw how badly Geri's call was going, including her.

I took the phone and spoke as relaxed and good naturedly as I could muster. "Excuse me," I made up a name and pretended to be a doctor. "I am Dr. White. To whom am I speaking?"

John gave me his full name and identified himself as Gerri's older brother. In the interest of Gerri and John's safety, I will not share the specifics of his identity.

John apologized, "We're sorry about this Doc. My folks are supposed to be watching her. As far as I know Gerri hasn't had an episode like this for four or five years."

My mind raced. I knew I could not pull off being a fake doctor under much scrutiny and that talking to John was only causing Gerri to have more questions and no answers. Based on what John had said their parents lived within six hours of Athens and he was much farther. I decided to try and turn the situation around a little.

"I see," I said, "well, Gerri is without any identification. So, we were not certain if she was telling the truth. From what your saying, it seems she is indeed your sister." I had to consciously keep myself from talking too fast. "We would be happy to keep her here, until someone can come with the correct identification. Perhaps you can contact your parents and have them contact us?"

John agreed and, more to himself than me, commented on how much their folks were not going to like the drive. We hung up.

I looked to Geri, "You seemed to be going around in circles."

"Yeah," Geri nodded, her sparkling eyes half lidded in thought, "I didn't want to have to get my parents involved… but, this is probably for the best."

I stepped to the side and mentally crossed my fingers for officer in training. By then, I was convinced that brother John would call the folks and they would say there daughter was right there with them. I was thinking that Kendal had messed with our minds, giving us false memories. Memories based on other real people. We must have the fake memories. That was the only way I could explain why we did not look the way we remembered. I had not worked out why we could remember how each other had looked, that could have just been a side effect.

Leroy made a call as well, he kept his voice low and chose not to share what he discovered.

Then the nurse was back with a tray of snacks, so no-one else had a chance at the phone. The nurse let us serve ourselves—juices (apple or orange) and granola bars—while she cared for Solanna.

The next thing we knew was the nurse collapsing on her patient and Solanna looking awake and a little blissed out. The grey of Solanna's irises had darkened and widened to almost fill her eyes. Gerri and Ken rushed over and pulled the nurse away, sitting her on a nearby chair. Solanna did not want to let go of the hospital worker. When the nurse was taken beyond the pale lady's reach, we all saw little mouths in Solanna's outstretched palms. The mouths seemed full size and suckled briefly at the air, then closed and vanished. Solanna was looking healthier and livelier. When those hand maws disappeared, the Lit major blinked once and visibly resisted moving towards the nurse again.

The nurse was passed out, but breathing steady. So, Geri and Ken made the lady as comfortable in the chair as possible.

This solidified my resolve to flee the group as soon as I possibly could. I still could not decide what I thought was the most true reality… what really happened to us that is. Every time I tried, two or more of the others would start saying or doing something that kept me from being able to think. I had mostly resolved that the weirdness was all in my mind, a sort of Total Recall/Bourne Identity mash up—without the cool spy powers. Which meant the others were my subconscious selves getting in my own way. The best way to handle the distractions, to my mind, was get away from everyone else and work on some logistic and reasoning problems. If I was wrong, then I would still be away from the crazy creepy people to start working on reestablishing my life.

I just needed to figure out how to slip past the cops. Originally I had hopes the police would be helpful, but I had come to believe their only solution would be to put me into the mental heath system, where I was sure I would be medicated beyond capacity for thought. It turned out I just had to wait a little.

Just as the others were trying to decide if they should get the cop's attention to help the nurse, a woman strode in. The lady seemed older, like Hank or Milton, yet well preserved. She was tiny, maybe not technically qualified as a little person, but she was as close as she could get. The ultra-petite woman carried a large stack of books on her back, bound with a leather belt and her large round thick spectacles gave her a bug-like appearance. Her clothing seemed in good condition, suitable for travel, and about 150 years out of date.

The woman moved in a very direct and no-nonsense manner and had approached the police guards outside our room and spit in their eyes. Then the officers just resumed their posts, but no longer seemed to registered their surroundings. At least, that is what Milton had described later… which means Milton and Mike arrived with the mysterious lady.

Our group must have exchanged tales with Milton and Mike while the lady, who said she was Ms. Alstroemeria conducted her business. This illustrates the disjointed quality of my memories since then and why I endeavor to capture them here.

The lady introduced herself and handed out her business card. Actually, the card was more a card of introduction as Victorian socialites once used.

Ms. Inca Alstroemeria

Archivist, Specialty Accounts Alchemical

Spontaneously deciding Ms. Alstroemeria had all the answers. Half the group started barraging Ms. Alstroemeria with the questions that had been plaguing us. "What happened to us?" "Who did this?" "Why?" "What was the point?" "Where is our stuff?" "What happened to our lives?" "Why can't we remember the last seven years?" "Why do we look different?" and on and on. All the while, Ms. Alstroemeria, in a very business-like manner, moved to the table at the room's center, place down her books, unstrapped them, selected a couple, opened then to particular places, pulled a bottle of ink and a large peacock feather quill from a pocket, and waited for us to calm down. She had not ignored their questions entirely. Unfortunately, her responses just tended to spark a new barrage of questions based along that tangent.

Ultimately, Ms. Alstroemeria's point boiled down to: we agreed to service and, now that the period of servitude was over, we were entitled to our payment. She was here to provide that remuneration. In one of her open books, bound in masterfully, she showed us each copies of the Kendal contracts that we signed. A more careful reading now, showed some very disturbing legalese. Buried in the fine print, a significant section on participants service. Service described as "…as the contractor sees fit." And "…during which the participant contractee's name shall be relinquished…" All effectively summed up in the line, "The undersigned participant agrees to service for a period not to exceed 7 years and 7 days." As far as Ms. Alstroemeria was concerned we should have negotiated better contracts, if we had wanted to retain our possessions or appearances.

"No," she snapped, "you may not have my copy of any of the contracts. You were given a copy at signing. You should have kept better track of it."

The accountant may not have known any more, but that is not how she seemed. Rather, either Inca did not want to tell us, or was not allowed. For all that the very prim lady did not seem malicious—efficient, bureaucratic, put upon, yes, but not mean. Certainly the woman was not one to suffer fools gladly and the people I was with certainly were acting as fools in our naïveté.

Days later, it occurred to me that we might have paid Ms. Alstroemeria for more information. However, at that point, it was hard to imagine giving back some of the money she had just handed out. The money was the first tenuous line on a blueprint that might lead to rebuilding my demolished life.

Our payment was the $1050 as promised in the contract. Not fair for seven years work, but we should have negotiated better. I was first in line. I had to sign Ms. Alstroemeria's other book, a receipt ledger. We each checked extra careful for any fine print. Ms. Alstroemeria produced canvas belts with pouches tied to them. Somehow the mysterious accountant kept producing the belts from the same satchel at her waist, with no discernable effort. Impressive as our payment was in dollar coins (golden Sacagaweas).

When asked about the metal tender, Ms. Alstroemeria said "Yes, the coin of this realm, the largest available value. I am sure I do not know why that, if they are to mint with such tawdry alloys, then why limit to such small denominations."

As Ms. Alstroemeria's dealt with one of us at a time, the rest of us chatted. The group generally agreed that they would split into smaller pairs from here, but meet tomorrow at the IHOP across the street to compare notes. Privately, I did not honestly think I would try to see any of them again. If any of what I was experiencing was truly real, then those other people represented way too many bad things in my life.

Also, it must have been then that Milton had conveyed their tale, including the part about the hypnotized police at the door. For that is when I realized I could easily steal out. I left as Milton was completing his transaction with the Alchemical Accounts Specialist. Milt must have said something right since Ms. Alstroemeria was writing something on a card for him- more than the rest of us had been able to get.

I reasoned hospital staff always needed to be in scrubs, so they must leave their day clothes somewhere. I found an unoccupied employee locker room and slipped in. I looked through lockers. Luckily most did not have locks on, even though they were in use. I found one with pants and shoes that fit well enough, as well as a bulky coat. I left a couple rolls of coins (fifty of my precious dollars) and a note, on a piece of scrap paper I found in the room, saying "Sorry, really desperate. Thanks."

I made sure to leave the hospital from the side farthest from where I left the others. First stop was research. I wanted to use one of the schools computer labs, but that was too far and I could not be sure they would let me in. So, I aimed for the Athens Public Library. I was hoping to get a computer with internet access. I was tired and sore, but hoofed it anyway. I chided myself for leaving so much money for the clothes, I might of considered a cab if I had kept more with me. As it was I might need more than the grand I had left for my plan. I did stop into a Burger King for a couple of cressandwiches and coffee, though. It tasted worse than I remembered, but helped shore me up.

I learned a lot in short order at the library. Google had improved amazingly. Facebook was indispensible and online banking was very nice. Craig's List was exceptionally useful as well. I searched my name, hoping for a missing persons report. Instead I was led to Facebook. Where someone who looked like me—the original me—and using my name had nearly 300 friends. None of them seemed savory. I'm no straight edge or anything, but it seemed pretty clear the would-be me was very involved in drug culture. What must my family think? Plus, the guy even used my password. I saw that he had over a grand in my bank account. Way better than the two hundred I left there, but not close to enough to replace the laptop I lost at Kendal. How could I get access to it without I.D.? I didn't even have a debit card.

I decided to set term-based goals. Tackle the short term, as many as possible as quickly as possible. Work on the details of the longer-term goals as I went. Preliminary researched: bus schedules, laptops, cell phones, local computer access in evening (FedEx/Kinkos), cheap local motels, credit unions, wire transfers, Western Union, and local shopping.

I had always enjoyed researching. The process of discovering answers and the tangential knowledge that was often gained through simply following some interesting lead or link, had always been fulfilling. Now researching had also become grounding, helping me organize my thoughts and plans and making me feel that I was more connected with the world around me than I had since waking on the wrong bed in the wrong Kendal building.

I left the library long enough to get another unpleasant tasting fast food lunch, Arby's this time. As much as if found the researching and other common place activities soothing and stabilizing, I found the weather a bit unreal. By all accounts it was late November and the sky was clear and the temperature was in the mid-seventies. I told myself it must be an Indian Summer, even though I had never experienced one this late into the year. I actually felt a little foolish wearing the jacket I had stole…bought, however I felt a little conspicuous in just the scrub top. At least with all the walking I wound up having to do was as pleasant as possible.

Before the afternoon past, I picked up an ID. College towns always have a black market for fake IDs for the many underage drinkers cut loose from parental supervision. You better believe someone is making fake IDs for money. I had heard some rumors back before Kendal and some targeted searches did the rest. Illegal or not, forging is business and all businesses had adapted to the electronic media—Craig's List, in this case.

It cost two hundred dollars to get a fake Ohio drivers license in the name of Thomas White. If I wanted one in my real name, I could come back. Gary's placed reeked of pot and his eyes were very bloodshot just past noon, but he accepted the Sacagaweas, though, just saying "Whoa, that's a lot of coins dude."

I used my real birthday and my folks address in Cincinnati, on the ID. That way if questioned, I would not hesitate on those answers. The confusing thing was that the photo that the forger took of me showed me as I had been, not as the mirrors showed me. I looked six feet tall, my eyes and hair an almost matched shade of brown, although my hair did have some blond highlights. My picture still showed me as tan, although not nearly as tan as the skin I saw in the mirror, also more wan—hollower—than I once had. I easily looked twenty years old maybe even closer to the twenty-seven I should be if all the dates were correct. Otherwise, the image was the "me" I expected to see. I double-checked with the forger to verify I looked to him like the picture. I think Gary thought I was as high as him, but he did confirm.

I swung over to the post office and leased a PO box for Tom White. Then stopped into Athens Federal Credit Union and opened an account, I was especially proud of this at the time. Since my I.D. said Cinci. I had correctly anticipated the need for an Athens address and that the PO box would not be acceptable. So, I had practiced my story enough to make it believable.

As it turns out, "I am going to be a new student at the university in January. I just moved down from Cinci, here's my address (some near campus apartment). Normally, I would wait to open an account until I had a utility bill or something. But my granddad-he's kind of quirky—gave me this gift of a several hundred Sacagaweas. And honestly, I just don't trust my new roommates enough to leave the coins at home." I won't go so far as to say the teller ate it up, but she did buy it. I kept a couple of rolls, deposited a few hundred, and converted the rest to bills.

I returned to the library to get some more research in before closing time. I found Hank and Leroy there, using the computers for much the same reasons as had I. I had to help Hank with some basic navigation and searching tips. I just could not bare to see the oddly rocky muscle man trying to ham-fist (perhaps brick-fist in his case) his way through another web page—it was like an insult to the art of research. Plus, Hank always seemed so earnest and I know he would help me, or anyone, if asked.

The fireman made sure that I remembered the IHOP meeting tomorrow, as well as mentioning that they had all stopped at the Wal-Mart for clothes and supplies. It was a subtle hint for him. I was planning to go shopping after dinner. Stores stay open later than post offices, credit unions, and libraries. But Hank's comment did startle me into realizing how I looked in Athens Federal CU. My story my not have mattered, the motherly teller may have just thought I was homeless and could use some pity. I thanked Hank for the IHOP reminder, but did not commit to going, although our meeting had got me considering it.

Hank also showed me that he had purchased a cheap pay-as-you-go cell phone. The fireman claimed that most of the others from the hospital had also bought similar phones. Hank gave me his number, I wrote it on a scratch sheet of paper the librarian had given me. I also borrowed the blocky man's phone for a call before we parted company. I was especially grateful, as pay phones were practically nowhere to be found.

Jack's wife, Sarah, answered. She recognized my name and did not sound pleased to be hearing from me. And that was recognized, not remembered. I could only hope my doppelganger had not been around too recently. Jack was on Facebook and he was not a "friend" with the other me.

"Yeah, uh, so anyway," I tried to regain some conversational equilibrium, "is Jack home?"

"_He's_ working." Sarah's cold tone and emphasis made it clear that she knew I was not working and she did not approve.

"I was hoping to talk to him in person." I said. "Could I come by this evening?"

There was a chilly pause. "We have to put the kids to bed after dinner and Jack needs to be asleep by ten." Again Sarah conveyed with tone alone that I was not to be at her home when her kids were awake. Jack had not even had kids when I knew him.

"That's okay, it won't take long." I pressed on, not knowing why, "I don't even need to come in or anything. I just need to talk to Jack for like fifteen or twenty minutes." I think I was sounding pretty desperate.

There was another stone cold pause, before she said, "Alright, I suppose you can come by around nine. I will let him know you called." Not 'I will tell him your coming' or 'to expect you' I noted.

I thanked her and hung up. I had wanted to meet Jack at home. I guessed he would be less businesslike and more likely to do an old friend a favor. In light of Sarah's attitude, I resolved to try and catch Jack at the dealership.

For an early dinner I tried a Wendy's; it was always a favorite growing up. Now it was just yucky. Not inedible, but nothing I would return to if I could avoid it. I was convinced it was another effect of my Kendal treatment. I could only hope to find something tasty in the future. I really hoped I didn't have to drink blood through mouths in my hands. I shuddered at the memory of Solanna feeding.

I shopped at Old Navy for clothes and Target for underwear and sundries. I understood the desire the others had to shop cheaper, but I just knew I needed to look better than Wal-Mart's best. Old Navy might not be any different in quality of material, but it did have a slightly more respectable reputation—maybe not as much as I would have liked, but again, I was spending as much as I dared.

I came away with underwear, socks, a plain T, a pair of jeans, a belt, button down flannel shirt, a sweater, a pair of decent hiking boots, a durable coat (with big pockets), a hat, gloves, and a scarf. Also, a cheap pen and pencil set and a pocket notebook, everything in darker muted browns and blues. I changed into the new duds in the public restroom of a Starbuck's in the same strip mall. I kept all the used articles I had as well. No point in throwing away any resource.

The bus let me off a block from Schmidt Motors Ford Dealership close to 6pm. Jack Schmidt owned the place and was a friend, seven years ago. He raced stock and had a couple of cars that I occasionally pit crewed for. He had been grooming me to drive one, someday.

I approached from the back way. I stashed my shopping bags behind the dumpsters next to the dealership.

Jack had n a sturdy guy, just a little shorter than me and in his early thirties. With my new height Jack and I were evenly matched, in at least that regard. Now past forty, the businessman looked way more like a dad, still thickly built, but a little softer around his edges, his dark hair had hints of grey flecked throughout. Jack Schmidt still dressed in a crisp, tailored suit and tie for work, he favored medium grey. Jack had told me once that the grey made the color of any car he stood next to pop and seem more appealing.

When I found Jack on the sales floor, he looked surprised and wary to see me. When I asked to talk to him in private, the surprise vanished, the wariness doubled, and a certain amount of "this should be interesting" entered his body language. We went to his office, my heart sinking all the way there.

I had a story rehearsed, based on what I had guessed of my imposter. It centered around an addict girlfriend taking everything from me. It was to have been my bottoming out moment- the thing that turned me around. I Just needed a couple of days to get some money, then if he'd sell me a good car cheap, I could drive back to Cinci and get straightened out—while staying with my folks. I figured that even if he smelled the lie, he might still give me a discount, since I was not actually asking for any more than that. Back when I knew him, Jack probably trusted and liked me enough to give me at least half price on anything.

My tale went un-spun. The life-long salesman, Jack, controlled the conversation. He verbally felt me out and sized me up. He effectively confirmed that the Tom of the last seven years was an alcoholic and drug addict. He even asked if I had been in prison. I decided that the other "me" might have, so I just answered "not recently." When he found out I wasn't there for money, a job, or a free car, Jack relaxed a little. In the end he agreed that I could buy a $1000 used 2002 Festiva for $600—as long as I had the money by Wednesday.

It was not the best model I could have wanted. However, I was confident that Jack would not sell a lemon. I could have bought it then, if I could have accessed what was in the credit union account. Also, if I wanted to sleep in the car that night, as it would have tapped me out. That would also have meant no food. I stuck to my plan. I thanked Jack, said I'd see him by Wednesday, shook his hand, and left.

I felt a weird sort of tingle or throb when Jack and I shook hands, sort of all over, but also centered in my chest. The sensation was definitely not static electricity. Afterward I felt a little more confident about the deal I had struck with Jack, while also feeling more anxious to gather the money together sooner rather than later.

I walked to the end of the block on the main sidewalk, then circled around for my stash. Then I took the bus to Wal-Mart. It was dark by the time I arrived, but the temperature had only dipped into the sixties.

I should have been nervous that my plan to get the extra money would not work or excited that everything had gone this well since leaving the hospital. I was just numb from fatigue. For the rest of the night I was on autopilot. I had a course of action in mind from earlier and I followed it without any further thought. I have no idea what I would have done if any even minor snags had come up.

At Wal-Mart I bought a back pack, pajamas, toiletries, snack food, wallet, and a second outfit (Dockers and a long-sleeved polo). Then I went to FedEx/Kinkos for a couple of hours, to use their computers. I should have gone to bed, but even with the exhaustion I was afraid to sleep. I researched the other Tom, his friends, my family, and my old friends on Facebook and any related sites that came up. I honestly can't recall most of what I learned.

Thus ended my longest and worst day ever—at the cheapest motel room I could find, a Knight's Inn. I am not sure if it was fate, but I could see the hospital from the lobby. The IHOP would be easy to walk to tomorrow….


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2, November 8th

Still edging along the cliff. The narrow ledge remains consistent—just a little narrower than the length of your feet—your bare, dirty, sore, feet. The chill wind catches and tugs at your flimsy scrub pants, threatening to pull you out into open sky. Maybe that's why your bare chested? Because you took off the shirt to avoid the wind using it as a kite?

You kept edging down the slope of the ledge, always edging, inch by inch. You dare not try to look down to gauge your progress. It would mean leaning forward, at all, and that was likely to be too much. Plus, you could not bare the disappointment if not close to the ground. So, you edge. You can angle your head to the side and up somewhat. Just enough to see more grey-blue sky and pale clouds. Edge, edge, edge, inch after dreary-terrifying inch. No way to sit or relax without falling. To the left and right, you see that the cliff arches away and back—as if you are on some massive cylinder, or the thread of an impossible screw. You gulp to suppress the shudder. Any shudder may send you over. Edge, edge…

…Edge, edge. The cliff wall _is_ narrowing behind you. The sky seems to be clearing. You dared not believe it before. Above you can now tell that the mountainous edifice looms out and over you—a gentley sloped out cropping. You can barely see any cliff wall to left or right. Your guess must have been correct—a gigantic screw… and you are coming to the point of it. Is it on the ground? It had to be. It could not just be hovering in space. What to do? You must risk a look down.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no… It's not possible. It's not fair. You were so careful. You tried so hard… The path just continues. It meets a point and starts widening again. Like two toy tops glued at their balancing points… And the clouds brake. You look up, for some comfort, some small cheer, that the sun can offer…and weep. The patchwork of the landscape hangs above you. Below your feet, only ever deepening sky. Somehow you are upside down and have been headed the wrong way.

You try to decide if you can make the journey to land, or should you step out and let gravity claim you. you fear the fall more than the edging around the mountain. But it's too late. You stood still too long. The tiny hands, no more visible than the wind start to find your feet and grasp for your pants. The eerie clear laughter dances high with the wind, "Come play with us, Tommy!" You are yanked from your perch. "Come fly!" the childlike things cry.

I sat bolt upright in the hotel bed. My new pajamas clung to me from sweat. I took stock of my surroundings, my breathing and heart rate returned to normal as I did. The clock-radio turned from 3:00 to 3:01am. Everything seemed to be as it was before I had slept. I turned on the bedside lamp and artificial light pooled around me, making the shadows longer and deeper. Nothing seemed to have changed or moved within the room. I considered the value of trying to nod off again versus the possibility of returning to that nightmare.

I got up and showered.

I washed away the clammy feeling of the nightmare. As I did, I could not help reflect on the thoughts it stirred in me. When I stepped out and caught sight of my image in the mirror. The name of the young, veritably shiny, face that looked back was Twilight Tommy. I realized the name made me feel safe-like it was a secret identity that had protected me somehow.

Afterwards, I felt better, but not enough to sleep again. I rinsed out strategic sweat areas in my PJs and did a similar targeted cleaning of my clothes from yesterday. I did not want to risk them not fully drying if I soaked them through. I half listened to the TV while I did this. It helped to distract me. Everything was as good as it was going to be by 6:30, so I packed and headed out. No need to bother with check out when you pay in cash at check in.

My goals for the day should be easy: surreptitiously return property, work out the logistics of wiring myself money, and get a car. I pushed myself harder than I should have the day before, so I wanted to keep things easy. I hoped that an easier day would prevent any more dreams like the one that prematurely woke me. Of course, I also had to allow for whatever may come from meeting with the group. They seemed like such a chaotic mess. The thought forced a resigned sigh out of me, as I entered the clear dawn light.

The sun was barely up. The clouds were thin and wispy, but plentiful enough to soften the sunlight slightly. It was cool rather than chilly, I had to keep reminding myself it was November, not September. The weather seemed to promised to remain as uneventful as the day before. I wondered briefly if I should have saved the money I spent on hat, scarf, and gloves.

First stop, O'Bleness Memorial. I had not originally planned to return the clothes; I did pay for them. But as I reflected over things deep and shallow, in the wee hours before dawn, I altered some of my earlier expectations. Since it was almost exactly 24 hours later, the whole think had a strong déjà vu feeling. I left the clothes in the same locker with another note on scratch paper, "Thanks again." I only realize now that the locker may not have been assigned to a specific person. I certainly didn't see any name tags.

Then I found a quiet, empty room with a phone. I pulled out my note pad and looked up the number I had jotted down from the internet, dialed 9, and called my old bank's 24 hour customer service line. After less time on hold than I expected the rep. answered. "Yeah hi," I replied, "I recently moved and want to verify that you have my correct address." I was proud of that. The rep could not then use my address as a verification of my I.D. I gave my social security number and mom's maiden name. The rep gave me my doppelganger's address. The address was also available with online banking, of course. However, this call also verified that I could get a bank dupe to work for me.

I had time to taka a bus to and from by the Western Union office, before heading to the IHOP. Thus, I confirmed the Western Union location and routing data that I had researched on the net. The IHOP was another of those reconsiderations made after waking at 3:00 a.m.

Almost all of us from the hospital showed up. Solanna did not come and no one knew for sure if she even left the hospital. Mike mooched off Milton and left early. I was horrified and nervous at how openly they all spoke. Any normal listener would have thought the group crazy or perhaps a cult. I was concerned that government or corporate (Kendal most likely) agencies might have agents anywhere.

So, I said as little as possible and tried to look like I wasn't sure about my companions. I imagined that if someone came and questioned me, I could say I was new and did not know them. I could claim they had told me it was asocial club and I did not realize how weird and culty they were until I had sat down. Yet, I kept being drawn in, partially with what they said, more often, with flashes of insight. Sometimes it would seem like a partial memory, others seemed like just my imagination. When Hank mentioned a dream of being auctioned as a slave, I felt like we had met in a dark wood. There may have been others. When Gerri talked of dreaming of being buried alive, I flashed to introducing my self as Twilight Tommy and she replied with her other name… I could not remember it as I sat there and it nagged at me.

Each of the others recounted a nightmare that they had over the night, each a variation on imprisonment, capture, enslavement, or torture—Ken was in an all metal cell and tried to scratch his way out, Milton was captured by giant spiders, Gerri had been buried alive, and so on. Kyle's was the worst, he had been torn open and worn like a suit by some clawed monster. Usually, they resulted in the dreamer waking at 3:00 a.m. I did not participate. Once it seemed like they had all shared as much as they were going to, I try to change the topic,.

"Does food taste strange to anyone else?" I asked as I poked at my pancakes with knife and fork. "I mean, the eggs seem mostly okay and the coffee, but everything else tastes odd. And I don't just mean this food. Everything yesterday was the same." I was desperate to talk about anything more normal

The group thought it over. Leroy gave a noncommittal half nod, half shrug. Gerri spoke first. "Yeah, definitely." She sniffed at the bit of sausage on her fork before popping into her velvety mouth. "Like everything has been sprayed with perfume or soap or something."

"I hadn't really been paying attention," said Ken, "But now that you mention it, yeah it does taste weird." He sipped some coffee. "I think I had assumed the bad taste in my mouth was from whatever drugs we had been given."

"No it's definitely the food." Milton pointed out. "'Cause it's not there when I'm not eating. It's real chemically." He wrinkled his nose on his wrinkly face to underline his point. "Prepackaged stuff seems to be the worst."

"I don't know," Hank chimed in cheerfully scooping some more pancakes into his mouth, like a crack in pavement, he continued after swallowing, "I guess it does taste different. I just figured I hadn't had it for a while. Like maybe they changed their recipes… I got some breakfast bars ay Wal-Mart and they're pretty unpleasant, but I always thought of them like that."

That led into a discussion of purchases and there relative values, given our homeless—near refugee—states. Most obvious was our attire: each of us had opted for all weather, steel toed, hiking boots, although I was the only one who scored Dockers. Everyone, with the exception of my khakis, wore sturdy Wal-Mart blue jeans. Even Mike had somehow convinced Milton to buy him an outfit better than hospital scrubs. Mike and Leroy were the only two in t-shirts, I assumed that Milton went as cheap as possible on Mike's clothes and that the linebacker sized Leroy could not find any other shirts that fit. I wore a blue short sleeved polo as did Kyle, although the hisute man's strong arms an chest filled out his top more impressively. Ken and Milton each had dress shirts opened at the collar, but buttoned at the wrists. I guessed the two haggard gentlemen were trying to cover as much of their scarring as possible. Hank and Gerri each sported flannel tops, his sleeves rolled up to show off the chunky forearms, her's buttoned to the top and wrists. We had all bought winter jackets as well, but hardly had need of them.

Even though Gerri tried to wear her green and brown flannel as if she were in a military dress shirt, her feminine form could not be denied. A shirt like that usually concealed the lines of a body, yet Gerri's curves only found ways to fill out strategic areas and entice the viewer with what lay beneath. Added to her auburn pony tail and porcelain skin with just a few freckles dusting each cheek bone beneath her wide clear eyes, the woman fulfilled any girl-nest-door fantasies.

Overall, our group looked very minimum wage and working class. I might have been mistaken for an assistant manager to the rest of my breakfast companions. It was a thrilling leap forward from the "escaped mental patients" look we had shared little more than one day ago.

Milton nudged his new backpack protectively and it clanked with several heavy metal objects. All of them had also bought things assuming they might need to sleep out of doors and most mentioned tools that could be used as weapons, Milton in particular had a hammer, crowbar, and hatchet. Milton also had duct tape, zip ties, and various other object that made him sound like he was ready to go kidnapping rather than camping. Admittedly, I kept a couple of rolls of Sacagaweas to weight my fist in a fight, so I guess we were all expecting something bad.

Most of them had gotten phones like Hank's and there was an exchange of numbers all around. During this I had the impression of an exhausted Milton, again lamenting his lost tools—like it was something he had done a lot.

All but Mike, took some pleasure in recounting for me Mike's actions after I left them the day before. Ken summed it up the most succinctly, "When Ms. Alstroemeria came to his name, Mike steadfastly refused the money. We tried to get him to take whatever he could get. Instead, he argued that if he did not accept the payment, then Dr. Aanwynn's was still under some obligation to him." Ken shook his head reliving the confusion he had felt. "I thought it was seemed a tenuous argument, at best, especially since we have no way of contacting the doctor. Then Mike did sign a paper for Ms. Alstroemeria, stating that he had refused the payment."

I was as dumbfounded as the others had been. Mike was either an idiot, or far more insane than this experience had made the rest of us. It was around then that Mike left. I suspect our laughter at his expense may have been a factor in his leaving.

Milton also told us how he and Kyle followed Ms. Alstroemeria as she left the hospital. "She walked north a couple of blocks…"

I pictured Kyle as a wolf or ferret or some other woodland hunter type mammal, for some reason. Sure Kyle had all the hair and whiskers, but there was something more to the thought of him speeding along on all fours, that I could not quite place.

Milt continued, "She had gone down a service road in a commercial area. She stopped at a manhole cover and glanced around. I'm pretty sure she didn't make us." The scarred man seemed unaware that his gruff voice had started to sound like a cheap detective in a 40's movie. "She pulled a two foot crowbar out of her bag, hooked it into the cover, and opened the manhole." He mimicked the action with his fork and pancake. "She climbed into the hole and used the bar to slide the lid back in place over her."

"We," Milton flipped his thumb between himself and the furry svelt fellow to his left, "hurried over and listened at the drain holes. I heard her boots on metal rungs, then her stepping into shallow water. She greeted someone—called him Arthur. Then it sounded like she walked off."

The private eye finished his coffee, then concluded. "I tested the cover gently. Just enough to verify it was standard. It was and that means heavy. The lady lifted it one handed with no sign of effort. I did not actually try to open it, though. I did not want to meet Arthur, especially not in a set of scrubs." He chewed and watched us for reactions.

We nodded and thought, some of us probably even thought about what Milt had just said. Most of us, just as probably, were thinking about ourselves and not particularly concerned about an accountant we were unlikely to ever see again. I know I was more one of the latter, than the former.

Milton also claimed to have visited the Kendal building that afternoon, alone this time. He said the basement had a large gap in the floor, like an earthquake had caused it. Milton shivered as he said that he had disturbed something and they came swarming out of the hole. From the skittering, he was sure it was not the hounds. They were bugs of some kind. Milton was pretty sure they were a sort of beetle, but bigger and blacker than any beetle he had ever seen.

Gerri spoke up at one point, "Hey guys, I was thinking, my thousand dollars isn't stretching as far as I thought it would. And I thought we might trying pooling our resources." She had put her utensils down and sat with perfect posture that accentuated her bosom, not reaching for anything until she saw how we responded.

"Yeah," Hank agreed quickly, "I think it's important that we stay together. We don't know if anyone's gonna come looking for us." He drank coffee in his orange boulder of a left hand, while his fork hovered and motioned in his right. "If they do and it's good news we can all benefit right away. But if they come and their trouble we have safety in numbers."

"That sure," Gerri allowed, nodding her head once to set her silken red hair to swaying, "but I was more thinking about food and shelter. Prices are higher than I remember and lots of little things are adding up quick."

"Like taking the bus everywhere." Contributed Kyle, as he hunched over his plate, forcing himself to look at us by rolling his little eyes upward.

"Yeah," Said Gerri, reaching for her coffee mug, "It's only a dollar, but five or six times a day adds up. It's like an extra meal per day."

"Sure," Ken added, sitting back and sipping more coffee, "and the cheapest hotel I could find was the Knight's Inn and _that_ was still almost fifty bucks."

There was a minute or so while most of us agreed and admitted we had also stayed at the exact same hotel.

"See," said Gerri, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the fencer, "If we shared rooms then we could as least half the costs.'

"More," added Milton gruffly, "if we went a double, then four or five of s use it. Sleeping on the floor, or whatever."

"Plus," Hank pointed out, "we need to figure out what's going on and we can cover more ground and information, if we work together."

Hank and Gerri then ran through various survival and teamwork principles that they felt applied. They drew from his firefighter background and her ROTC training for supporting data. I felt like they were stretching a bit on a couple of points, but realized that they just wanted to make sure we did not split up.

I was skeptical of how much I wanted to entrust my resources to them. I mean Milton had spent money on a hatchet… in the middle of a 21st century American town. I will concede that if it came to living outside in Hawking Hills or some other State Park, then the hatchet was a good idea. Personally, I wanted to do whatever I could to avoid having to live outside, especially in the woods, and if those hounds were real. In the end, we all of us did agree to a joint effort.

We discussed in more detail the idea of paying for a hotel room for two occupants, then sneaking more in. That led to someone suggesting finding an abandoned house to squat in. Someone else pointed out they had seen on a news feed (on one of the nearly ubiquitous televisions in every restaurant) that there was a mortgage crisis going on, so there was probably a higher number of foreclosed homes. Largely due to sticker-shock we had already experienced, we all agreed to the squatting idea, at least for a night or two. Normally I would be too worried about the risk, of some disgruntled neighbor or cop showing up, but with the others there I felt more secure. Like the big guys could probably intimidate any big mouth neighbor and I could probably run faster than most of my allies to get away from any officials trying to catch us.

Gerri, Leroy, and I, as our most academically inclined, would go to the library and research recent newspapers for foreclosure notices, real estate listings, cheap rentals, and the like. Hank, Milton, Ken, and Kyle were assigned as appraisers. Gerri would call them when we found a potential squat and a pair of them would bus over and scout the property (ease of access, potential nosiness of neighbors, etc.) I was on board; I just had to run a few personal errands first.

Not willing to miss an opportunity or to forgo my own personal goals, I asked if I could make a call on one of their phones. The living wall, Hank, again loaned me his. In return, he privately asked me to research his death. Apparently his imposter died shortly after we originally signed our lives over. When my hand touched Hanks pebbly finger to take the phone, I felt another chest and body surge/ringlet, like I had with Jack the night before. Again the feeling left me reassured, while also more anxious to look up Hank's history than I had expected to be.

I stepped into the parking lot, the day was already warm enough that I did not need to use my hat or gloves. I called the bank's service line again, verified myself with Social security number and address this time. I never used to like that businesses started using massive call centers for this kind of service. Now, the idea that I would get the same assistant was ridiculous. Not that they would care, it just helped to obscure my trail further. I had the helpful rep wire transfer my imposter's full account balance to the Western Union office—less transfer fees, of course.

I gave Hank his phone and told Gerri and Leroy that I would see them in a couple of hours and then headed to the Western Union. On the way, a half dozen little fish of thoughts—slippery and elusive—kept nibbling at the edge of my ability to grasp them. They were all the names I felt like I should be calling my comrades. I tried to ignore the thought fish and focus on my plans. Whenever I can't remember a celebrity's name, not thinking about it usually makes it pop to mind. Either this would work the same way, or I would just get my goals accomplished. Good for me in either case.

I collected my money at the Western Union and then bussed over to Schmidt Auto. Jack was more surprise to see me than he had been the day before. Although, my old friend did look at my cash payment with some suspicion. I did not linger at the dealership; I bought the Festiva and headed to the Credit union to make a deposit.

If the money from Ms. Alstroemeria was a tenuous life line, then having a car again was a solid bridge back towards normalcy. After the bank I had to resist the urge to just drive until the gas ran out. A bridge to normal was not being normal. I had my goals and now had decided to also be part of the other's goals as well.

I skipped lunch and got to the library to spend the afternoon researching. Like most public libraries, this one was as clean as they could keep it, but staffing is always low and books make dust like nobodies business. The building had been made in the 50s and the decorations had probably not been redone since the 70s. Whish at least meant lots of wood shelves and tables and carpeting on most floors.

Gerri, Leroy, and I found about a half a dozen potential empty homes. I also looked into some information on traditional Chinese culture. I probably could of done a lot more, but I grabbed a cat nap.

In my Old Navy attire, I looked far more like a college student than the hobo I had the day before. So, I was not getting nearly as much of a stink eye from the library staff. Plus, I hoped that Gerri or Leroy would wake me if it looked like my nap was causing a disturbance. Although the large black man rarely spoke or seemed to be paying attention, so my hopes were mainly with the gorgeous Gerri—in other ways, too, to be honest.

I did also look into Hank's death. The firefighter had died on the job in a fire, shortly after participating in a Kendal study. Several complaints and law suits had been filed against Kendal in regards to the study seven years ago. However, Hank's death was the key to solidifying a class action law suit. His replacement's demise had garnered some media attention and was being linked to Kendal. In the end, Kendal settled out of court. A lot of families (including Hank's sisters, Gerri's parents, and everyone else's doppelgangers) got fairly large settlements. When doing this research I could not find any reasonable way for Hank to return to his life. Later I did think of something that might strain believability, but I will leave that for now.

Shortly after the library closed, our scouts reported back on all the properties. The majority agreed on where we would squat and how to go about entering the house. I was concerned that they picked the most affluent neighborhood of any of our choices. I was also drawn to it's semblance of comfort, though, so did not push my concerns.

Some of us tried Long John Silver's for dinner. The fish was almost good—after removing the breading. Then we met up with the rest at Wal-Mart and bought some groceries for the squat. Easy stuff, apples, granola bars, a couple microwaveable meals (the scouts confirmed there would be a working microwave). I also purchased an air mattress, sleeping bag, and two pillows. I made sure not to go too cheap on these items. I needed them to last and possibly function out of doors, if our situation were to go bad.

I ferried a couple of our band over to the house in my Festiva. The rest trickled in via the bus. None of them seemed suitably impressed that I had managed to get a car. Of course, none of them had tried either, so they couldn't appreciate how successful I had been. In retrospect, I suppose they may have imagined that I had stolen the car and did not want to call attention to it. After all KEN or Milton picked open the lock of the house were in, so they probably just thought in terms of theft. The house did have an attached garage which I liked a great deal, as I did not want park my car someplace it might draw attention.

It was well past sunset when we tried to settle in. As so often happens with these kinds of things most everyone had forgotten to buy some small thing or other (towel, duct tape, food, etc.) I was glad to volunteer to compile a list, collect their money, and go shopping- any excuse to drive. I also had a few things I wanted for meeting with the liquor store owner again. Plus, it was easier to ignore the feeling that we were all speaking too personally to each other. At least for my part I imagined that when they called me Tom, it was short for Tommy—of Twilight Tommy.

Of course, each of my new companions could all still just be manifestations of my own subconscious. Which would explain the almost intimate feelings when using their names. However, as time was passing, I was feeling less confident about my Total Recall theory. I was also feeling less concerned about generating an explanation. I figured someone had answers, if I could just find them. Even if the Total Recall thing was right, then some part of me must know what happened.

By eight o'clock, we had picked our rooms. Milton had taped black garbage bags over most of the windows. Shades drawn first, then plastic taped over them. It made the interior look crappy, but from outside you could not tell if a light was on inside. I thought that was pretty clever. The family room had a sliding, glass door that opened onto a deck. So we just had to avoid lights in the family room. There were two full baths and the water was on. We took turns in the showers. No clothes washer though, so that night would end with hand washing clothes and draping them around to dry.

We gathered in the finished basement to discuss next moves. We were pleased with our success so far. Yet, many of us felt more uneasy here than we had expected.

"I know I agreed to this to save money," Gerri said, "but all this sneaking around doesn't feel right." She sat with her feet folded under her knees on the carpeting of the unfurnished basement, her back straight as always, and her hands on the denim hugging her thighs.

"Yeah," Hank agreed, he stood leaning his shoulders against the wall near the stairs, "it's like now that we're actually here the whole breaking and entering-ness of it is more clear. I mean this was someone's home."

Wade shrugged. "'Was' being the key word." He sat against the wall opposite Hank, legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and shoulders against the wall. The professor always looked weary, no matter how recently he had eaten or slept, the gaunt man looked like he been without either for days.

. "I'd say," Milton said, he sat against a wall like Wade, but folded his legs like Gerri, "a little sneaking around was worth running water, toilets, and a secure place to sleep."

"But for how long?" Gerri asked, making sure to make eye contact with Milt.

"Well we should probably stay here a day or two," the scarred and saggy man answered matter of factly, "then go to one of the other places we saw. We could probably do that for a couple of weeks, as long as we keep checking the papers for new squats."

"Just keep breaking into places?" Hank was incredulous and sarcastic. "That's sure to go well." He refolded his squared arms over his big blocky chest with some annoyance

"It's rrerr just until urm we get some rrghmoney orrrr jobs togetherererer." Pointed out Kyle in his gargle manner. The furry fellow had squatted in a corner, two walls supporting him and knees up in front of his chest with arms folded on top.

"And how long is that going to take?" Wade said, apparently playing Devil's Advocate for every position. "Especially since we don't have IDs or permanent address and will have to spend a lot of time moving our base camp around." He flexed his scar-covered hands as he spoke, as if he were working out muscle kinks.

"Plus," Gerri added, "each time we come and go from a squat, there's a chance we'll draw unwanted attention." Her bright emerald eyes flashed as they darted around tracking everyone's positions.

I had to agree. "Yeah, I don't care so much that we're using houses that the banks took away from people. The only was we're taking anything from is the banks and I think they'll be fine in the end. But getting caught is not cool. If we get caught, especially, without IDs the cops and the bank will not be lenient." I had been standing next to Ken and mimicking Hank's body language, but I paced when I spoke and made nonspecific gestures with my hand.

The conversation went around along those lines for a while. No one was very impassioned about their side. We wound up agreeing that we would stay there one more night, if we must, then move to one of the other scouted houses. In the meantime, we would all seek to find more legitimate housing, preferably with room for all of us.

Gerri also brought up going back to the Chinese liquor store. I had not mentioned to any of them, but I had planned to go alone. I offered to drive. I could fit three passengers in the Festiva, four if they wanted to sit on each other in the back seat, more if they were willing to travel in the hatch storage. Only Gerri and Hank came.

I stayed in the car, when we got to the store marked "Liquor". I told them I still thought more than two going in might seem threatening. Plus, I can be ready to drive away at a moment's notice if anything does go really wrong. While true, I also wanted to see what they did and what happened to them first.

The sky was black, the waning moon too weak to pass any glow through the total cloud cover. I only shivered with nervousness a little as I sat in the dark, the weak lights of the parking lot being made dimmer by comparison to the BP's halogen shine. It was hard to believe the BP seemed so close now, it had seemed so far yesterday… Yesterday, it hadn't even been 48 hours since we were collected by the police, or saw the hounds… I shivered again.

About twenty minutes later my passengers got back in the car. They were both a little rattled. Additionally Gerri was more frustrated, while Hank seemed more confused. They told me what happened, back and forth. Each remembering a little piece the other left out and adding it.

The gist was: the old woman was not there, but an equally ancient man (presumably her husband) was. After Gerri gave him money, to compensate for the merchandise that Ken had taken, he was slightly more inclined to answer questions. There was a dog—same breed, different appearance. The shop keeper never said so, but it seemed clear to me that the store owners are fu creatures. He did imply that they are hundreds of years old. Those of us from the Kendal study are "Spirit Touched," no longer of this world. The spirit world is connected to this one by the Maze. We clearly successfully fled the other world via the Maze, returned here. The Maze if also called the Edge and it is full of predators like the hound pack. He explained that salt has many uses against various spirit-touched creatures.

The fu-man did not know who, how, or why we were taken in the first place, at least not specifically. He said the Shining Ones take mortals for labor and pleasure. Which Shining One took us he did not know, nor did he talk about how or why they stole people.

"Whoa!" I held up my palms to the and halted the narrative duet and tried to back it up. "Salt, really? How much did you get?"

I was not sure that I was going to buy into this fairytale explanation of our situation. Yet, I had no more concrete ideas to rely on. So, I figured go along with whatever was said, as long it was not harmful, and try to verify as soon as possible.

My passengers blinked at each other. The weightlifter shrugged. The military lady said, "None." As if she saw no reason to.

I grabbed my keys and leapt out of the car. In the store I saw the new, three tailed dog—bow in her hair and chewing on a puppy-shaped squeeze toy. She growled at me. I bowed to her to see if that would help. She growled more. I plowed on and went into the isles and found the salt. I took the pound (Morton's cylinder) to the register.

I kept one eye on the three-tailed dog whenever possible. She returned the treatment, but did not move from her post, nor did she lift her paw from the squeeze toy.

I placed the salt down and then fished out the rice wine that I had purchased for the purpose out of my pocket and placed it with the salt. I clumsily made it clear that I was not offering a trade. I would pay for the salt, the wine was a gift. The ancient Asian man was fairly inscrutable. He did accept the wine and answered my questions. The imposters that had taken our places for the past seven years are "Shadow Eaters". They are hard to get rid of once they have been so long in this world. Shadows can grow back, if damaged or eaten. Salt is not more or less effective against the Shadow Eater. Salt can ward or cleanse areas.

I thanked him and paid for the Morton's. He slipped a card into the bag with the salt. I tried another vow towards him and left, skirting the dog as much as possible. I was glad that it had remained one size.

In the car, I pulled out the salt to show Gerri and Hank. "When a probably 300 year old guy—who knows about the spirit world—tells you something is a protective against bad spirits, you get some of whatever he suggests ASAP!"

I almost called my companion with the red lips Rose… No, that still did not seem right. I started to drive back to our squat. "He also slipped a card in there." I said. "I don't know what it is yet." Her name was something like Rose though… Another flower maybe…

Both people just blinked at me like I was an over-excited five year old. Gerri pulled out the card and read:

Ariadne's

Sheaves & Leaves

Fine Rare Books and Teas

88 Eighth Ln

Athens, Ohio 45701

By the time we were finally back at what we could dubiously call home, we were fairly exhausted. Even those of the group that were not fatigued, agreed to discuss what was learned the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 3, November 9th

The clouds, puffy, white and crisp, swam their lazy ways across the sky. The language of shapes was clearer than ever. I eavesdropped with my eyes.

I lay on my back on the cool grass of the hill in the warm air of the day.

_jingly-jing_

Up I popped. The musical notes compelling. Around I look, the source of the sound tantalizing.

_jingly-jing_ _jingly-jing_

The push cart preceded the boy up the hill's crest. Its chilled, sweet aromas came after.

"_Come, come,_" the boy's voice harmonized with the bell, "_you deserve a treat!"_

I am all rushing over. He is reaching in.

Offered up, four icy creamy delights on four sticks for holding. The choosing of only one is hard, so delicious they all must be.

Will it be the black and white circle? All swirled together, the spiral lines of a maze to play while eating.

Will it be the shiny bar? It has a candy coating shiny as silver, perhaps for reflecting?

Will it be the caramel? Brown disk with heads on each side of a coin, embossed in butterscotch: rich riches indeed.

Will it be the chocolate glove slipped over a sugary hand? The velvety texture is beckoning to me, probably touching flavors new.

I want…no, not that. It should be… no, wait. I'll…

Pick and live with it. Picking wrong is forever. Yet picking a treat cannot be bad and a treat is what is offered.

Glove and glass seem unfulfilling. Spiral and shekel both appeal.

Pick one, pick one, pick one. He won't wait forever, he never does. He may change the offer altogether.

I choose the two-faced ice-cream coin. The maze may have made a mess.

I bite in…

I woke. It was dark in the empty room of the house we were stealing for the night. I had no clock, but by the time I shuffled to the garage and checked the car radio's clock, I was sure it would have said shortly past 3:00 a.m. I was just as certain that returning to sleep would not place me back in the dream. Only nightmares linger to pounce again on a once wakeful prey. Dreams, even weird ice-cream dreams, just fade farther away as you drift once more to sleep. Especialy when you know you picked right in the end and you really want to go back and taste the victory.

I reflected on the relative merits of an inflated mattress verses the bed at the Knight's Inn. I felt like I may just be improving my lot. At least the faint smells of new carpeting and paint were superior to the old tobacco and industrial cleansers of the hotel. I drifted off again.

When I got fully up around dawn, I felt better than I had in what was probably seven years, definitely better than the last fifty-plus hours. I was not whole yet, though. Physically, I was alright. Mentally, I felt as clear as I could be and still have amnesia. But emotionally, or spiritually, or whatever… I was missing something. Maybe it was the disconnected feeling of having an impersonator, added to the missing years. Mostly, I only really noticed the sense of missing-ness when I found myself really wanting something. Even so, I still felt a bit better in that respect, too. Like I did not have something, yet I was sure to get it soon.

I got something back in the night. I was not sure exactly what, or how, the metaphor of the dream fit in—if at all—but I was doing better. I felt like Taking chances need not be as risky, somehow. At least, I felt like when I filled up the nagging emptiness, then I would be able to change my luck… and not just mine for that matter.

I dressed, then packed my air-bed—with the rest of my worldly possessions—into the Festiva. They took up such a small part of the hatch area. It felt weird moving threw the unfurnished and unfamiliar house, like my comrades and I were haunting it or something.

The air in the garage had the crisp chill of a November morning. However, the sky seemed to promise another clear and sunny day. If it was like the day before, the temperature would reach the low to mid seventies. The mild weather only continued to contribute to my concern that my surroundings were not real. In 2004 and earlier Ohio November days were rarely warmer than sixty degrees. So, I wondered if it was just my subconscious making the days seem nice.

The others had started to stir as well. Hank and Gerri were not chipper per se, but they were the two most alert and active of our collective. The rest were fairly zombie-like in their shuffles to get showered and coffeed. Milton was downright grim until he had drank at least one cup of the instant java. I nuked a breakfast and joined everyone on the living room floor.

I grimaced at the taste of my breakfast burrito and said. "Ugh! Has anyone had any better food luck?"

We all sat or leaned around what was meant to be a dinning room adjacent to the kitchen. The kitchen and family rooms had better light, but we all still chose to avoid the large windows in those areas. Even though the windows looked out onto the half acre back yard, there was still a chance a neighbor may see and report seeing movement in our purloined shelter.

"Apples are fine," Ken pointed a finger that covered in a webbing of pale scars towards the fridge, from were he stood nursing his plastic cup of coffee, and replied, "as long as you peal them."

"I hrrm just washed rrirr mine," mumbled Kyle, holding up his half eaten apple and smiling, "and it's rrrreal good."

The harry man squatted in another corner, with feet lat on the carpet and knees near his shoulder. I had the impression Kyle was protecting his food from view most of the time. Smiling made Kyle's long whiskers quiver. I could not tell if his speech affectation was from before or after Kendal had done whatever they had done to us. Either way it sounded like hirsute fellow sounded like he was gargling gravel when he spoke.

"Yeah," I reflected, "and the fish was okay, if you could avoid the breading." I settled onto the carpeting and leaned my shoulders against the wall. "So, what are we thinking, don't eat the outside of something unless its' been washed off?"

Milton snorted somewhat incredulous. "Or we figure out what they all have in common. 'Cause the coffee I got fresh ground was fine, but the pre-packed stuff is even more crap than I remembered it.""

"I think we're just not used to eating this kind of food." Hank offered from were he stood near the doorway, granola bar in one earthen hand and red plastic cup in the other, . "I mean I don't know how or where, but it's pretty clear we've been gone seven years. Wherever we were must not have had normal food." He bit into the breakfast bar, unfazed.

"Or we were on I.V. drips." I suggested and privately thought that we might still be on I.V. at Kendal.

"I don't know." Gerri said thoughtfully. "If it was all food then maybe, but we're only reacting to things with man-made chemicals. That's why washing the thin layer of wax and pesticides off the apples works and why the more pre-packaged it is the worse it is." She was the first to have finished breakfast and was doing some basic muscle stretches in one corner of the room.

I noticed that I was not the only person that had to adjust when catching sight of the auburn-haired bombshell flexing. And somehow, even though was apparently the only one who bought more than one outfit, Gerri looked freshly pressed. The rest of us, looked like we either slept in our clothes or pulled them out of backpacks, which is what happened. Either Gerri new some ROTC trick, or the firmness of her body pressed her clothes from the inside out.

Milton and I liked Gerri's reasoning. The others did not think it precluded Hanks theory. Except for Leroy, who did not join the conversation. We could not know if we would require time to reacclimatize, or if we actually could not process the chemically enhanced food as we once had. The previous two days had not effected anyone's digestion, but as a precaution we agreed that avoiding the most obviously manufactured foods would be a good idea. Although that did not stop Hank from suggesting pizza at every other meal time. If the lump of terracotta ever had taste buds, they were gone at that point.

As we spoke of chemicals and pesticides on plants, it hit me. Gerri was Tegan, Tegan… something, but definitely Tegan. It was so right. Of course, I might have still been mad. And we all still had lots to do. I chose to keep that to myself, until there seemed like amore natural moment.

Hank's main focus during sharing time was to talk about last nights weird dreams. I was again surprised at how interested so many of them were. Without sharing the details of my subconscious experience, I agreed that it was strange that everyone seemed to have had the same core elements: figure of authority or power (grandparent, boss, master, etc.) offering a choice of four objects. The objects were always variants of a maze (tangled vines, child's toy, embroidered hanky, etc.), a coin (poker chip, wooden nickel, smiley faced pancake, etc.), a mirror (foil candy wrapper, shallow bowl of water, an actual mirror), and a glove (catcher's mitt, mechanical hand, child's drawing of a "turkey", etc.). Otherwise the individual dreams were themed radically different (trapped in a garden hedge, trading at a desert bizarre, etc.) . I tried to point out that we had all gone through a similar traumatic experience and since then we had done a lot of the same things. It seemed plausible that our subconscious minds might make similar metaphors to cope with it all.

Privately, I also filed away that Ken was Wade. I had the thought when he described the mechanical trinkets his dream tinker had offered. Wade was a shorting of a longer pseudonym, but it was as right as Tegan was Gerri. I continued to mentally file these names away. They quickly became the primary names that I thought of when dealing with these oddly familial strangers. Within a few days, like having a second language, I had to consciously swap in there original names for these safer ones when addressing them.

We also discussed what Mr. Fu had said and our housing situation. For the house hunt Hank, Kyle, and I would use my car to check the net at the library, as well as bulletin boards at grocery stores and the university. Gerri (Tegan) and Ken (Wade) would bus over to Sheaves and Leaves. Look into what it was and try to discern if it could help us in any way. Similarly, Milton and Leroy would go check on Magog.

It turned out that Milton had implied to Ms. Alstroemeria that he might be interested in more volunteer work. She had given him the name Magog and an address.

We also talked about Solanna and Mike. On the one hand, they were adults and should be responsible for themselves. On the other hand, they came out of the Maze with us and we felt a little… well, protective was not the right word. We felt a little proprietary. So, whenever any of us had a chance, we planned to stop by the hospital and IHOP to see if they were around. If nothing else we could give Solanna our contact information. I recalled that Mike had gotten the phone numbers before he stormed out of the IHOP, so I figured he would probably contact us, if he wanted our company.

We were all successful in our outings, although, my team was most fruitful. We picked up a campus paper and Kyle read it on the way to the library. There were some students looking to sublease a house off campus. Hank called and set up to meet them right away. We didn't even bother with the library.

It turned out the tenants had only just got the posting printed that morning. The house was a 3 bed, 1 bath, ranch style with attached garage, finished basement. It came with central air, a full set of kitchen appliances (including dishwasher), and a clothes washer and dryer. It worked out to about $150/mo per person—for the seven of us (less if Solanna or Mike show up). And we could move in as soon as we paid and signed the lease. The tenants were even legitimately going through the landlord for the sublet. So we would not have to pretend to be them. We would still have to pretend to only be three tenants, though.

The location was on a quarter acre plot, surrounded by slight variations of the same kind of homes. It was only a mile, or so, from the town's center. So, an easy walk to the library, hospital, and shopping, for those without a vehicle.

Overall, it was an amazing deal. We even liked that the folks that were leasing didn't have a lot of questions. In retrospect that was probably one of many little caution signs we should have read. But we did not want to start asking too many questions of our own for fear they might start doing the same.

Hank, Kyle, and I signed the lease on the spot and covered the initial rent. We were confident the others would be okay with the house. We were also confident we would get reimbursed for their shares—at least Hank was confident and convinced me. Signing the paperwork gave me that thrum-twinge feeling again and this time I was dealing with a female (the girlfriend of one of the other two male tenants). I had been concerned that Kendal had done something to my brain chemistry that made me feel weird when touching or dealing with other men. This strange reaction to lease suggested I was working on a flawed hypothesis.

I spent the rest of the day playing taxi, or soccer dad, for the rest of them: driving their stuff over from the squat and taking them to and from places (Sheaves and Leaves, library, grocery store, Wal-Mart, and the hospital—looking for Solanna). We co-purchased pots and pans, food, dishes, cutlery, cleaning and laundry supplies.

The relief everyone felt as each was informed of our new, much more legal, living quarters was palpable. Except for Leroy, who stared with luminous yellow eyes, just nodded slowly and eventually said "cool". As with Kyle's speaking, I wondered if whatever Kendal had done made the large cat-eyed man so aloof, or if they had just taken a cure from his cat-like nature.

Milton and Leroy were the least successful team. In so much as, they did not learn as much as Gerri and Ken. When we sat together for dinner, on the carpeting of our new home's living room, Milton recounted, "I Knew the address looked weird to start with. I figured it would be an office or something. Nope, it was a bridge- under the bridge to be precise. There's a little cardboard, bum village down there, with maybe twenty guys. There are few oil drum fires and lots of make-shift box houses. Most of the… inhabitants, were watching a pair of their comrades fight over a hunk of meat." Most of us looked incredulous. "I swear it." Milton raised his right hand and looked to Leroy.

The big guy just nodded and chewed, sitting off to the side with his feet folded under his knees and a paper plate balance in the bowl of his lap. I am not even sure he heard any of us most of the time. His fur covered triangle ear did twitch at each new sound, though.

"Anyway," Milton rolled his eyes and went on, "I head to one of the guys not watching the fight and tell him I wanted to see Magog. He looks side ways at the largest cluster of boxes and asks me if I have an appointment." Milton shakes his head slightly, his excess skin continued moving for a second longer than his head. "I can't tell if he's serious or crazy. So, I say I don't have an appointment. The guy gets a twinkle in his eye and says, 'Okay buddy, good luck. Magog's over there, sleeping' he pointed to the boxes. So, I went over cautiously."

"Leroy," he said with a sarcastic look towards the engineer, "kept me covered from the edge of the camp."

Leroy still seemed unfazed, staring at him for a moment. Again, I was not even sure he had heard Milton's comment.

"As I got closer, I could hear the snoring getting louder. I rounded a large refrigerator box and saw to huge bare feet sticking out. They had to be bare, because I am sure no one can make shoes that big. I looked around and the guy I had spoke to gave me a nod and a thumb's up. He's also called a couple of his buddies over to watch me. I may not always know etiquette, but I know when to be diplomatic. I left the area. I walk to the corner liquor store and bought a couple of bottles of nice cheap diplomacy." He seemed to remember his drink and took a couple of deep swallows from his Coke bottle.

The rest of us chuckled. Ken (a.k.a. Wade) even had to put down his cup of wine to avoid spilling it.

"When I got back, the onlookers where surprise to see me. I went over and prodded Magog's foot with my boot. When he finally lumbered up and out of his box, he stood close to eight feet tall."

I held in a new laugh at the mental image of the Tallwind having to crane his neck to see who he was speaking to…. Tallwind, Milt's name was something Tallwind. Something about the implied height of his name and the described size of Magog, triggered the right association.

Milton (now Tallwind) had continued, "He stared at me with his one eye—and he wasn't missing one, the he had was centrally located with no room for another. The ground might have shook when he rumbled, "What you want?!' Or I may have just been swaying from the shock that slammed into me."

"Whatever the case, I held out the first bottle and he took it with a grin. He polished off the whole thing an a few swallows. From there I tried to ask a few questions, but honestly I could barely remember what I wanted to know. Staring up at a real life Cyclops is intimidating." He took another large drink of Coke, before continuing.

"Mostly, Magog seems to be a sort if crime lord. He said he could employ me. He implied lots of strong arm kind of stuff. If all of this fairy land stuff is real, then I get the feeling like Magog is a low level version of Aanwynn."

The burn scarred shamus reminded us all that Dr. Aanwynn was the Kendal researcher that had undersigned all of the contracts that we had signed. The contracts that had apparently allowed the researcher to mutate us and steal years of our lives away. I had no idea if Aanwynn was also responsible for the clones, or Spirit Eater, or whatever they were. By this point I did not know what any of it meant—weird dreams, alchemical specialists, fu creatures, seven missing years, and so forth—or why any of us were involved, but I was pretty confident it was real. Thinking that scared me most of all. Since that could mean I was crazy and I was talking myself into not realizing it.

Milton (Tallwind) was also questionably successful, in that he had found Mike. Who was now joining us in eating our food, as Milton's guest. I tried to not let my mooch-alarms get the better of me. But now that we shared expenses, it was not just Milton (Tallwind) supporting the fool who refused over a thousand dollars.

Gerri (Tegan) and Ken (Wade) shared the fruits of their exploration at—what had become—story time. No one had bought a TV or radio yet, so what else were we going to do.

"Ariadne's," the fencing instructor said, after wiping his drawn mouth on a paper towel, "that is, Sheaves & Leaves, seems to be a meeting place and private club for.. what are we calling ourselves? Spirit Touched?" He glanced around for consensus. The rest of us nodded or shrugged indifference.

"Yeah," Gerri (Tegan) added "It's like a converted Victorian style house. Aisles full of old books and in one room is a coffee and tea shop. But we did not exactly see any confirmation that any of the people there were like us."

"I don't know," said Ken (Wade), wagging his plastic fork towards Gerri (Tegan), "there was something weird about the girl behind the desk and there was the brass around the inner lip of the doorway, a solid band of the metal, etched with lots of different languages. I guessed they all said the same thing, but we only recognized one that may have been Latin or Greek. It said 'Terra Nullis', which I figure means No Mans Land… Plus, there was the membership thing."

"Membership?" I prompted eagerly. The talk of old books had really grabbed my attention.

"There are dues to get in the private book collection." Gerri (Tegan) said around a mouthful of salad.

"And a membership contract to sign." Said Ken (Wade) and we all got a little tense. "And the contract is odd."

"Odd how?" asked Mike, his sandwich held halfway to his mouth.

"Well, we both studied it pretty close," answered Ken (Wade) and Gerri (Tegan) nodded agreement, "and there's no super tiny, fine print. But there was some odd phrasing. The oddest bit us a line about 'part of anything created on the premises, belongs to Ariadne's'."

"That," agreed Gerri (Tegan) further, "and the lengths of membership. They have day, week, month, and annual membership fees, Plus lunar, by solstice, and every nine days. What is that about? Nine days." She shook her head in mild confusion, her the ends of her auburn waves just long enough to sweep invisible motes from her set shoulders.

"What do you get for joining?" I asked and took a bite of my own salad. Thoroughly washed veggies, some cheese, and a hand mixed oil and vinegar dressing was delicious, at least compared to the chemical flavors of my most recent meals.

Ken (Wade) answered with a one shoulder shrug. "You get access to the rare books room."

I perked up even further at that news: books mean research. It seems like we are not the first people something like this happened too and that it is not particularly recent for many of them. Someone must have recorded some information. Even so, it must be rare, so where better to start than a rare books room for Spirit Touched only? Or, it could just be a group of people willing to foster and prey on the delusional.

Gerri (Tegan) had also given me a book she bought from the public section: a collection of folk remedies and superstitions. She said it was the best she could find for mystic uses of salt.

I saw the extra twinkle in the beauty's emerald eyes and knew she was trying to tease me for my over reaction at the liquor store the night before. I did not care to rise to the bait, for two reasons. Firstly, it was seeming more and more likely that a book like the one she handed to me would be far more valuable than I would have previously predicted. Secondly, the upward quirk to Gerri (Tegan)'s cupie mouth revealed the hint of adorable dimples in her milky smooth cheeks.

In turn, I reflected briefly on how I had not smiled in what seemed like forever. Even the accomplishments of securing a car, bank account, and home had been moments of relief, not joy. Nor had I seen any of the others happy. We might have a rueful chuckle, or make some comment for levity, but it was still far too soon for happiness.

We wrapped our discussions by agreeing that we needed jobs. We needed $150 for the next month's rent, should not be that hard to come by for any of us. The extra cost for communal supplies might get high, though. Especially considering how much extra the massive frames of Hank and Leroy seemed to be able to pack away, as well as the desire to eat fresh and unprocessed ingredients.

As nighttime approached we settled down to bed in the new place. Gerri (Tegan) got the smallest bedroom to herself. Kyle, Milton (Tallwind), and Leroy had one of the other unfurnished bedrooms. Mike was left to sleep in the living room, I think someone pitied him enough to loan him a blanket or two. I went to sleep reading my new book by the glow of moonlight through the window in the room I shared with Ken (Wade) and Hank. I was still the only one of us to have purchased an air mattress, so I felt quite regal above my sleeping allies.


	4. Chapter 4

Day 4, November 11th

Azures… Verdants… Argents … Sables… Purples… Crimsons... Golds…

The next morning we were all pleased to report no dreams or nightmares. Many of us woke around three, but had no memory of a reason for it. I had taken the opportunity to do my laundry. I asserted that since we now had clothes, reliable shelter, and a reasonable amount of food, we had far less anxiety to drive the weird dreams, the others remained unconvinced.

Due to our rental place's proximity to downtown, it was only a mile or so to walk to the library. We all headed there en mass to scour the want ads for the start of our job hunts. The sky was overcast, but not so dark as to threaten rain, nor was there any scent of impending precipitation. The temperature promised cooler than the last couple of days, but still comfortable.

Our group stayed to the sidewalks and tried to stay roughly together. At one point we passed by some storefront or other, from which a mother with a squalling toddler was emerging. Leroy got weird—agitated and twitchy—and headed off on his own at a brisker pace than he had been walking with us. Wade (Ken) speed walked to catch the large man and try to check on him, however that just weirded out the swordsman.

Eventually Wade (Ken) confided that, "He," Leroy, "looked feral. His slit pupils had gone almost all black and he had a mouth full of sharpened teeth." He waved his scar hashed hand up and down in front of his mouth. "I mean they were all pointy, like needle sharp. I didn't think they were like that did you?" he ask us all generally.

We shook our heads. Hank rubbed the back of his neck, a faint stone on stone grinding noise could be heard, "He hardly ever says anything, so I can't say as I ever got a good look."

"His teeth are probably why he doesn't talk," asserted the Tallwind (Milton) as he hobbled along. The wrinkly man's burns did not seem to impede his speed very much, buy he did favor his unscarred right side noticeably.

The discussion reminded me, Leroy was Rai. Again I knew it was an abbreviation. This time, though, I was less certain that I had ever known the full length version. Of course I was still concerned that I might just have been making these pseudonyms up in my mind.

Wade (Ken), Tegan (Gerri), Tallwind (Milton), Mike, Kyle, Hank, and I continued on to the library. We still talking as we walked.

"Now that we have an address," Tegan (Gerri) suggested, "we should be able to get actual replacement IDs. At least it should be easier." She marched more than walked in the lead—It was more of a stride or strut really and she had selected a waist length jean jacket so I found myself fixatedly following her toned behind.

"Replacement IDs," Tallwind (Milton), hands shoved deep in his pockets and head hunched down, grumbled, "still need proof of residence and a birth certificate. Just telling the DMV where you live is not good enough." He walked a little behind me and Tegan (Gerri), next to Hank.

"Sure," said Wade (Ken), from my other side, "but proof of residence could just be a bill with the persons name and the correct address… That will take time. Especially since we could only put a few names on the electric bill at one time. " that was the only utility not included with our rent.

"We could certainly swap names each month," suggested Hank, over his broad shoulder, "couldn't we?"

"That's what I meant by more time." Said Wade (Ken), rolling his dull grey eyes, a little exasperated.

"And it doesn't help with the birth certificate." Added Tallwind (Milton).

"Alright, alright," said Tegan (Gerri), holding up both elegant hands briefly, "I said it should be _easier_ not _easy_."

I sighed inwardly, embarrassed about what I was going to admit, as well as disappointed that I would have to give away something I had actually put effort into. "If anyone's interested, I know where you can get decent fake IDs. They are at least enough to get you by. Maybe get a job, if the place isn't too picky."

A couple of them were interested. That's when I remembered to show them my fake drivers license. Since I had given up the source, I figured I may as well share the results, the fake ID's photo and how it showed my unchanged face. There was a lot of speculation as to if it was just because of the mechanics of the camera, or if there was some other factor, that caused my original features to appear. Would the pictures show everyone as they had been? Also, I explained how Gary the Forger had verified that what he saw in the photo matched what he saw when he looked at me. So, do all unchanged people just see our old selves? The questions actually held the attention of most of my fellows for more than a few minutes—a rarity for any subject thus far.

Since my plan was to find a place to tend bar, I didn't waste time at the library searching classifieds. Instead, I printed out the forms for replacement birth certificate and Social Security Card. I still wasn't sure how to get my Shadow Eater to stop using my real identity. I did know I needed to start taking it back, as much as I could. This step would take a few weeks for the IDs to arrive, which should allow plenty of time to come up with the next few steps. I think Tegan (Gerri) was the only other one of us getting the same forms. However, I did not want to pry into something that seemed so personal, so other's in out group may have also started their ID procedures.

Tegan (Gerri) also acted strange—at least a new and different kind of strange than any of us had experience so far. Something about a teenage boy at one of the computers tucked off in a corner caught her attention. She stood stock still at the shelves behind the boy. When we noticed, she seemed blissed out, like on E. The effect made her seem like a teenager that had been caught while high and now she was trying to maintain a passable impression of sober—and failing at the impression. Hank went and brought her carefully back to our group. By then Mike and Tallwind (Milton) had jumped up and went outside for a while. They looked flushed as they left, but did not mention why. Tegan (Gerri) was also tight-lipped about what happened.

From there, I showed most of them to the forger I used. I think they mostly just got fake versions of their real IDs, which I took as support that my notions of the importance of our given names was maybe all in my head. Even though I kept getting flashes of incite into alternate names for each of my co-Kendal survivors, none of them seemed to have any hesitation with using the names we had signed over to Dr. Aanwynn. Maybe I was just making up the pseudonyms as an extension of my own failing mental health. Even with this doubt to the validity of the alternate names, I still continued to think of my house mates by them while using there given names aloud.

Tegan (Gerri) went off to get a bus pass. She figured that if she did get hired somewhere, then she could not be sure I'd be there to drive her. Most of the others were not as thoughtful. Although, Kyle did go off alone and when next we saw him, that evening, he was driving a cab. He claimed it was like getting paid to rent a car.

Something about the quiet, solo way the hairy, well-toned man got his job and transport, brought part of his other name to me. At first I thought Wolf, or Lone-Wolf, but quickly amended it to Runner, as in runs like a lone wolf. As frustrating as all the rest there was more to it, but Runner was all of which I was sure. It was that quality of only partial surety that kept me believing that I was right to keep using the pseudonyms.

In the meantime rocky Hank, cloud-haired Mike, and I had made our own trip to Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves. Even though Tegan (Gerri) and Wade (Ken) had described it, the tea house/bookstore was odder than I had imagined. Strangely, it was odder for it's normalcy, so every little quirk seemed to stand out more. Or, perhaps I was just more nervous than usual, in anticipation of getting some real answers. The porch was unsettling, though.

Ariadne's appears as a converted two story Victorian home. It's back is to the river and neighbors are a field on one side and an old tool and dye factory on the other. The bookseller's parking lot is gravel and has room for maybe a dozen vehicles. The shrubbery looked more lively than anything else in town in November, yet not impossibly so. No sign was legible from the parking area, the brass plaque hung next to the front door was in shadow until we stepped onto the porch.

Over all, the building looks like a well tended historical landmark. The covered porch looks as well appointed as the rest of the house. Until you step on and look up. The beams and rafters are thick enough with spider webs to cause anyone to consider adopting arachnophobia. The brass plaque is etched with a simple and elegant line drawing of a cup of tea on an open book, over the words Sheaves and Leaves. There was a small, antique, pasteboard "OPEN" sign in the window of the door.

The three of us took special note of the doorway's frame as we entered. As Wade (Ken) had mentioned, there is a solid brass band that runs the circumference of the frame. Words in a dozen languages are etched in the band, presumably all repeating the same phrase. The closest version to English we saw was either Greek or Latin—Terra Nullius, dead center at floor level.

When Tegan (Gerri) and Wade (Ken) had mentioned it, they assumed it meant "No Mans Land". Assuming Spirit Touched are no longer men, then the message seemed less ominous. I, agreed at the time, "Terra" was definitely in the "earth" or "land" family and "Nul" probably meant something like "Nothing" or "No". The "-lis" suffix could easily modify the "Nul" to "No Man's". I did not know Latin, per se, but I did know it had a lot of those kind of modifiers. It could refer to the dangerous area between two or more warring territories, or that this was a place were warring was suspended, or the men (normal humans) were not permitted. Since I was pretty sure I was no longer human (in its purest meaning), I was least concerned about the last option.

Inside the place that once was a home, the historical theme carried through. There was lots of solid wood, occasional leather upholstery, woven rugs, some metal (usually brass), and no plastics. Even the electricity is confined to a minimum of light fixtures (in the style of gas lamps) and the pastry display case in the tea room (probably the toaster and such as well). There are book cases everywhere, floor to ceiling, along every wall (including hallways). They even block a window or two. Nestled here and there are chairs or stools, as well. There seems to be more rooms in the rear of the structure, which are only accessible via a door cordoned with a red velvet rope. And, of course the tea room had a handful of tables with chairs.

The cashier/receptionist sat at a desk that one of Humphrey Bogart's characters could have used, with a manual cash register from an even earlier era. After browsing a little, Hank and I approached the lady behind the desk. I have know idea were Mike had wandered off to. The lady was pretty, not a model, but certainly closer to that than many. Her blonde hair was curly and cut short to bob around her ears, cheeks, and dark eyebrows. She wore big wire framed glasses that allowed easy access to her big brown eyes. Her outfit was ultra conservative and she used hardly any make up. She wore a sleek, brass, name pin identifying her as Philomena.

"May I help you?" Philomena asked in a slightly nasal voice.

"Uh, yes, well we hope so." I said. I was trying to let my actual uncertainty and confusion show. While trying to avoid appearing incompetent.

Hank was doing his standard hulking, jovial dad routine.

"Some friends of ours were here yesterday." I plowed on. "And they mentioned something about the rare books section?"

"Yesth," Philomena had a slight lisp. Added to the slight nasally-ness, her voice conveyed a charming innocent quality. "We have an exthtensthive rare collection." She stared at me expectantly.

My mind flashed to Mrs. Fu, glowering at me through her thick lenses. And Ms. Alstroemeria with her books and bug eyed exasperation. Both were unfair comparisons. Philomena was polite and friendly. Even so, my memory of the other ladies dried my mouth.

"I mean…." I tried to swallow and go on. "Uh, that is, uh, we heard…" I looked to Hank for some backup.

The wall like weightlifter smiled encouragingly at me, like he thought it was going well.

"We heard," I tried again, "there were fees or something. We wanted to find out more."

Comprehension dawned on the ladies aquiline face. "Oh, yesth of coursth." She pulled a form from out of one of the desk's drawers.

We scrutinized it. The various fee structures took up almost as much space as the rules of conduct. Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, per nine days, lunarly, per solar eclipse, per lunar eclipse, and maybe others I do not recall. The rules are pretty straight forward for a rare books collection: no food, drink, ink, ink pens, or markers, charcoal, in the stacks. No fighting anywhere on the premises. Do not damage, alter, or deface any part of the collection. Pencils or chalk and note pads or slates are allowed The one odd rule was that one part of anything conceived on the premises, by heart or hand, belongs to the establishment.

Hank asked about the wording of the clause. "Uh, conceived?"

Philomena smiled impishly, "There have been enough insthtancethsth, that required the rule be formalized."

"Ah," Hank blushed a little, his dark orange cheeks becoming more brown and the yellowish band of his neck turning ochre, "Uh, but what does it mean 'heart or hand'?"

"Well," Philomena's impish smile gained a knowing quality. Like when a parent gets a lewd reference, but doesn't want to explain it to their kid. "Ariadne wanted to make cthertain to cover any possthibilities." She winked at me with her left eye. Hank was on her right and did not see the wink.

"It mentions fighting," I joined the conversation, "Does that come up a lot?"

She became serious. "No, there isth no fighting. It isth very important that you do not fight here." She was looking at Hank.

I felt like she thought we were looking for a brawl. I had assumed to physical violence, so I tried to clarify. "Okay, but what about arguments? Like if two members are discussing philosophy or something and they disagree. Can they verbally hash it out? Or do members not talk to each other inside?"

"it isth alright to sthpeak to othersth." The perky clerk said and smiled warmly at me. "Justht keep your voiceth down and be cthivil."

"What does 'the premises' entail?" Hank asked.

Philomena looked confused. "Well… here."

"I think he means," bolstered by her smile, I tried to help, "if someone were to…" I decided to ignore the conceive clause, "Were to get in an argument and the other fellow said 'Let's take this outside'—like he wanted to fight." Philomena blanched a little. I barreled on. "What qualifies as outside the premises? Just of the porch? Is my car on the premises in the lot?"

"Uh," Philomena hesitated, perhaps making a mental calculation. "Everything within one hundred yardsth of the building isth protected by Ariadne'sth rule. But do not fight here at all." She made sure to look at Hank again.

We both wound up buying a one month pass at ten dollars each. Sheaves and Leaves only takes metal money. Luckily I kept a couple of rolls of the Sacagaweas. I had planned to use them as fist weights, if anyone attacked me. As it was seeming less and less likely that I would wind up on the streets, I was happy to find an alternative use for the coins. Hank was not as foresighted, so I made change for his paper money.

Off the tea room is a door leading to the back of Sheaves and Leaves. There is no visible guard, although the staff of the tea and pastry counter have full view. Hank and I lifted the red velvet rope across the door and let ourselves in. I did not know to where Mike had went.

Hank wanted to browse around and get the lay of the land. I could barely stop from grabbing up books and reading. I had always enjoyed reading something new and I felt like it had been forever since I last had a real book in my hands. I had originally planned to become an architect for the job security. After a year of classes, I realized the only one I had paid any attention to was my Lit 101 course. Once I switched majors my grades improved and I enjoyed going to classes and the library, largely just for the sake of all the books and reading. In Ariadne's, the rare books sections are even more packed with books than the public areas. Hank and I split up.

I saw that the stacks are organized by subject. It took a moment to realize the method was similar to most thesauruses. I found fire, Earth, Water, Air, Wood, Flora, Fauna, Law, Chaos, Light, Dark, and so on. I was most intent on learning about Shadow Eaters and—if I came across the right section—non-culinary uses of salt. I was have aware that there seemed to be a lot more rooms than I would have expected, but remained steadfastly focused on my current mission. I had thought Shadow Eater had "shadow" and shadows are like darkness. The Dark section turned out to be a dimly lit, creepy, closet. I am certain that I heard slithering while in there. I left for more fruitful sections.

As it was my first time, I was quite haphazard about my method. If I found a likely section, then I would select a few books. I flipped through and read a couple of pages of each, replacing them if they did not seem right. I collected a small armload in this fashion and found a place to sit near a window overlooking a garden.

I spent several hours reading through various books. Not that I noticed the time while reading. I did find that Shadow Eaters are also called Spirit Eaters, Doppelgangers, Fylgja, Dharmakāya, Etiäinen, Ikiryō, Vardøger, and Fetch—maybe more, all depending on region. Although, Fetch did seem to be the most common term used in what I had found. The gist seemed to be that they are a sort of construct created by the Gentry or Lords. I did not find much on the Gentry. The context I drew from implied the Gentry are malicious, pernicious, and dangerous. The fetch are most commonly used to allow a Gentry to snatch a baby or child, replacing the kid with a fetch lookalike. Fetch tend towards amoral lives and often make their friends and family distraught. I did not find anything to indicate they had any special powers of weaknesses, nor any stories of how to drive them off.

I also found a few salt rituals that I copied into my note pad. I was coming close to having to believe my situation was what it was. And the salt rituals were all about warding off malignant spirits or people, or cleansing areas of bad presences. I figured better safe than sorry, even if I looked foolish.

Hank came and found me. The fireman had spent most of his time in the garden. I actually looked through the window and really saw it then. It was a Victorian style garden, with manicured lawn and artfully placed trees and shrubbery, and occasional stone benches or tables. It had many… beings scattered throughout, some in small groups, others alone. At first glance the inhabitants seemed like people and a few exotic animals (lemurs and parrots), Then I let myself actually see them. Many of the lemurs wore bits of clothing (a vest, here, D'jinn-style pants there) and every so often one would swim through the air (from ground to tree branch, or from tree to tree). The person on horseback in the distance, where the lawn met the woods, was in fact a centaur. The lady with the grass green hair was eating the leaves from a bush. There was a satyr in a waistcoat and vest, lounging near a chessboard. It was all so surreal, like a realistic painting of imaginary things had come to life. I felt like I was watching amazing computer animations on TV, rather than looking through a window.

Hank wanted me to meet someone. I could tell my companion was looking for me to confirm if I was seeing what he did. He led me through the French doors to the outside. I was too stunned to resist.

The air outside was easily ten or fifteen degrees warmer, than when we had entered Sheave and Leaves. It smelled of burning leaves and cold rains, hay and pumpkins. I looked make sure the house was still there. I entered and exited again, to make certain I could.

Hank led me directly to the satyr and cleared his throat. The face of a middle aged man looked up from a small book. He peered at us over half-moon pince-nez and from under a balding forehead that sported two tiny horns.

"Doctor this the friend I mentioned." Hank introduced us. "Tom, this is Dr. Peter Dionysus."

I swallowed and held out my hand. "Uh, hi."

Dionysus shook it gently by the fingers, "My pleasure." His voice was normal and conversational. It only seemed odd in that I think I was expecting a higher pitched voice like many of the little people I had seen on TV or movies, or more affected like a bleating goat.

It was at that moment that I stopped resisting. I stopped looking for other explanations for what was going on. I was in a fairy tale, there was no way around it—honestly, I did not want there to be. I was talking to a real satyr, while lemurs gently flew in my peripheral vision. That was damn cool.

I did not undergo a radical transformation, though. I remained cautious and uncertain. I accepted it was real, but I did not know my way around. And I remembered that most modern fairy tales were watered down versions of often gruesome stories.

I chatted briefly with Dionysus. He claimed to be quite learned, regarding many creatures. When I asked if he could tell me about fetch, he said "Certainly, although my time is of value to me."

"How much would you consider fair?" I asked.

He considered, at least in part sizing me up over the tops of his half spectacles. "How much do you wish to know? Or rather, how long are you interested in discussing this?"

I realized we were bargaining and that I should expect to be talked up from whatever price I claimed to be willing to pay. "Well I want to know whatever you can tell me…" I groped for a number. "Say four hours."

His eyes widened, "I don't think there is that much to know about fetch. Perhaps two hours?"

"Three?" I had an inspiration that as the seller he might short the time to get a second session. "Just in case what you tell me causes me to have more questions than I imagine."

He nodded, "Alright, three hours…" he thought, "I could give you that for a pint of blood."

I felt myself pale. "Um, thanks anyway. I am doing my best to keep my blood." Thoughts of Dr. Aanwynn and the Kendal room full of refrigerated blood swam in my head. I accepted this was real and I had no idea how my blood could be used against me.

"I did not say," Dionysus replied, "that it need be your blood." He saw the worry on my face and sighed. "I suppose I could give you three hours for one hundred dollars, if you would prefer." He seemed bored with the idea of money.

I was visibly relieved. "Do you accept paper dollars?"

"I would prefer coin."

I got the feeling I could talk him into taking the cash. However, it was late and I wanted to leave to start job hunting. Plus, Hank wanted to go. It wouldn't hurt to make a better impression by getting the coins.

I verified the doctor would be in the garden the next few days and we left. Hank and I met Tegan as she was coming in. She was more interested in a ride home than visiting Ariadne's. Hank and I told her about the metal-only policy for fees. So, we stopped at Athens FCU and all got more dollar coins, in my case enough to pay Dionysus. I began to empathize with Ms. Alstroemeria: we need larger metal denominations.

On the way home, we passed a car wreck on the side of the road. The drivers were out of the two cars, near the traffic as we passed slowly by. There was a young lady (probably a freshman at the university) and a guy in his thirties. She looked confused and terrified and he look furious as he shouted into her face. I could not tell which of there cars had the mashed in hood and which the crumpled trunk. As we passed close to them, I blissed out. I did not know what was exactly, but something there had my full attention and it was wonderful. It could have been something about the cars, the upset girl, or the enraged guy. Whatever the case, it was like the best steak I had ever tasted, with the best beer, with an adrenalin booster. I almost swerved into on coming traffic.

Tegan (Gerri) was in the passenger seat and had grabbed the wheel to straiten our trajectory, "What the hell, Tom?!"

"I, uh…" I tried to get a grip on myself, "I think maybe we should see if we can help them." I glanced to the wreck.

Tegan (Gerri) saw something about my face and got a little more concerned. "I don't think that's a good idea right now." She spoke more clearly and calmly than normal, her satin tones helped, "Maybe you should pull over and let me drive the rest of the way."

The thought of letting someone else drive my car helped to sober me. Plus we had started to leave the range of whatever had come over me. "No, that's not necessary." I looked longingly for a moment into the rear view mirror. "I'm okay now. We can keep going." The sensation had ceased, but I did feel a little more refreshed than I had before the episode.

We had a collective dinner and shared 'story time' at the rental house, as was becoming our ritual. None of the others had as much to tell of their day. Hank and I. Tegan (Gerri), Wade (Ken), and Runner (Kyle) had all gotten jobs. The one time college fencing instructor was to be changing oil at a Jiffy Lube, the alluring ROTC student took a stock-person position at Five Spring Farm Landscaping, and cute weaselly fellow was working as a taxi driver.

I was impressed with Runner (Kyle)'s cleverness, job and transport all in one. Considering I was stuck with a Festiva, I might not even mind whatever crappy model the car was. I was also a tad jealous that Wade (Ken) would be working on cars, yet I knew how much lower pay greas-monkeying is compared the bartending for which I planned. I kept it as a fall back option.

Rai (Leroy) barely ate anything. The felinoid gent had bought a junked Suzuki motorcycle and some tools. Rai (Leroy) had then taken over the house's attached garage to work on the bike. I felt a little irritated at that, but chose not to have a confrontation. I figured that once the large, sharp-toothed man had the cycle fixed, there would be enough room for the Suzuki and my little black Festiva.

I had mentioned that I was going to try for a job at one of the more trendy bars, if Athens could legitimately be said to have anything trendy. I tried to get Hank and Rai (Leroy) to come and see if there were bouncer positions. They were the two most physically imposing people in are group—in most any group, honestly. The aloof cat-dude barely grunted any acknowledgement of me, as he worked on this bike. The coarse skinned muscleman was game, though. It turned out, Hank had tried a couple of odd jobs he found in the classifieds—helping old (even to him) ladies with minor housework. The once-upon-a-time fireman did not care for the way geriatric women tended to ogle him. Tegan (Gerri) and Wade (Ken) also invited themselves along to blow off steam. Runner (Kyle) had to get back to driving his hack. Tallwind (Milton) just seemed to want some alone time, or maybe he wanted to try and find Mike again. Personally, I felt like the May/ December thing was unappealing, however, whatever the two adult men consented to was none of my business.

Around 9:30, while getting ready to go, Tegan (Gerri) did something to the backyard. Wade (Ken) was so excited he called us all out to see. As each of us arrived, the oil change specialist would repeat, "Gerri's growing plants! I mean wherever she walks starts sprouting… seriously, look!"

It did turn out to be true. We all asked variations on the same questions. "How are you doing that?" "Does it hurt?" "How long will it last?" "What else can you do?"

Tegan (Gerri) stood in her short sleeved scrub shirt tucked into her tight jeans, occasionally bending over or crouching to inspect the ground, and answered as best she could—although most of flexible girl's answers were, "I don't know." She did say, "It takes concentration, it won't happen unless I am specifically thinking about it." and "No it didn't hurt, but it does feel like effort. Like trying to remember the answers on a real important test."

Where Tegan (Gerri) focused, the dormant plants sprang out as it were the middle of spring and a time lapse video was playing. When I moved closer to see more clearly what she had done, Wade (Ken) practically yelped. "Tom, you're glowing!"

They all stopped staring at the pretty redhead lady and started staring at me. Then I got the rapid fire questions. "How…?" "Does it hurt?" "How long…?" "What does it mean?" and so on. When I was too dumbfounded to even try to answer, they shifted focus to Hank.

It turned out that I was glowing. I had thought it was moonlight, but the cloud cover was still too thick for that, so it was definitely me. At least I was at the center of the illumination. No light actually seemed to project from me and covering or uncover part of my skin did not effect the area of gentle light. It was like bright moonlight was shining somewhere and part of that had decided to be around me instead of wherever the rest was. When I thought about seeing more the light grew brighter and when I thought about hiding the light dimmed to nearly nothing. I went through these thoughts quickly and somewhat in shock.

Meanwhile, the fireman had said, rubbing the back of his yellow neck with his blocky hand, "You know, this kind of reminded me of something that happened when I was helping one of those old ladies earlier. She was one of those extremely clean, with white on white furnishings, types." He saw that his listeners understood. "Well, I knew I had to be extra careful moving her furniture. She had me take it to her backyard to paint it. So anyway, I was worried about tracking dirt the whole time." He paused and squinted as if to make sure he was remembering correctly. "Then when I went back to make sure that I swept up, there was nothing. Not even impressions in the carpet where I know I had stood… I did smell a little wood smoke though, but didn't think anything of it, at the time."

"Don't you always smell smoke?" Tallwind (Milton) send sarcastically.

Hank blinked a few times. "No. I mean it was pretty common when I was working at the firehouse…"

"I think," Tegan (Gerri), cut in, "that Milton is referring to the smoky odor you give off, like my perfume fragrance, or Ken's wet leaves."

"Huh." The boulder-y fellow, sniffed his hands and armpit, then held his palms up and shrugged. "Nope. I get what your saying about you two, but I just smell like me… I did shower just an hour ago, though."

Their was general confirmation that Hank could simply not smell what the rest of us had all detected. I spared a brief thought that hanks poor olfaction probably accounted for his inability to detect the chemicals in processed food. However, I was not sure why the rocky guy could still smell the others.

Wade (Ken) was quickly exasperated with the topic of body odors and wanted Hank to try and demonstrate the phenomena he had mentioned. By then I had gone inside, but later learned the result. Hank can indeed make all trace of his having been somewhere vanish in a puff of wood smoke. To Wade (Ken)'s delight, he could do the same trick, although in his case there was no smoke—Instead, a small pile of fine metal shavings appear.

Eventually, I believe, we all tried to perform all the tricks each other displayed. Later Tegan (Gerri) and Rai (Leroy) would discover a mutual ability, but otherwise I learned of no shared talents.

Meanwhile inside, I tried to get a handle on my own new found specialness. I had slightly more success than with much of this week's strangeness. I, of course, could not figure out the what, why, or how. However, I did figure out how to concentrate on it to control the glow, from barely one candle light to enough to fill a room.

After about a half hour, I realized that I had way too many things to process for one day and I still had not gotten a job- which had been my primary goal for the day. I defaulted to staying on task. I ignored the glowing, the bliss moment, Ariadne's, and all the weirdness with my housemates. I went to the bar. Tegan, Wade, and Hank still came as well.

We went to Elements, a 'hot spot' I found online. If Tegan had not come, the rest of us might still be standing at the rope, no matter how much we bribed the bouncer. As it was she seemed to be wrapping men around her little finger without even noticing.

The club was college trendy with a hipster leaning. So rather than dark wood and an assortment of common objects nailed to the wall, Elements was darkly lit with most of the slight illumination coming from neon hung to outline the edges of things (the bar, tables, etc.) The furnishings were largely plastic made to seem like chrome, glass, and black lacquer. There were TVs in each corner, set to one ESPN or another, but they could not be heard over the blaring—mostly auto-tuned—dance music.

Once inside, I cut the others loose. I needed to focus on my mission. I did buy one good beer, the rest of the night I was strictly an O'Doule's man. I watched the bartenders for a while and figured out who the manager was. I waited until he was stepping away from the bar, but not engaged in something else. It was a short talk and he seemed skeptical, but he said I could come in Sunday and try out, which gave me two days to research the mixology of the types of drinks I had seen being ordered.

When Dave (the manager) and I shook hands on the agreement, I again felt the twinge settle into my chest, the slight sense of reliability mixed with obligation. The sensation was weaker than the other times I had experienced it. Before I let Dave return to his business, I also ask to consider Hank for a bouncer. I called Hank over. Again Dave was skeptical, but he said Hank could also try out on Sunday. Again the mystery sensation and even fainter than just moments earlier.

With that taken care of, I allowed myself to reflect a little on recent events. I was intrigued at the ease with which we all seemed to be achieving certain goals (shelter, jobs, and the like). I knew that most of my house mates had held professional jobs before we had been taken to the Edge, but since we got back I had been underwhelmed by there willingness and ability to cope with the real world. Most of them had bought weapons of some sort before securing shelter and none of them worried about jobs for almost a week, as just two examples. Added to their seeming disregard for who might overhear them talking about things that normal people would not consider normal. One the other hand, looking back over my own actions I recognized a similar paranoid streak. I had been feeling like I was doing something wrong, no matter what I had been doing, and that a cop (or someone) was going to jump out and arrest me at any turn. So, maybe what we had accomplished was not as hard as I had felt. Yet, it still seemed we had been more fortunate than our displayed competence should allow.

Now that I had accepted the mystical nature of what ever happened, I wondered if it made certain things or actions easier or more inevitable. Knowing about the magic certainly did not make learning about it any easier, that was for sure.

Hank broke into my speculations. "Hey, Tom, we need to get Gerri and go find Ken."

"What?" I responded, suave as usual as I translated the two names into to code names I had been privately using. I really needed to work on that, if I wanted to make tip money. "Why? Where is he? What happened to you?" The last was because Hank's face had gone all grey and stony.

Literally, his skin had turned to living concrete—matte, hard, and rough, but still flexing as if it were skin. What I had thought of as stone-like on the guy before, seemed like wet slay by comparison to this new grey paved skin.

Gavin, something stony! Hank's name, the one that was safe. it was Gavin…something.

"Well," Gavin (Hank) pulled my attention back, "there was an incident." He was trying to keep it brief. "Some ass was trying to drag a girl into the toilet. He clearly drugged her with something. Ken and I intervened. The girl ran out the back and Ken followed. I slowed the guy down." His craggy face grimaced.

"The ass took a swing at me. It pissed me off. Before I knew it I was like this." Gavin (Hank) held up his hand to display its pebbled texture and cinder block coloration. His finger nails were like a polished granite counter top, and the same color as his skin.

I glanced around. No one else seemed to notice his change. Hopefully, whatever made cameras see our old selves was still working on him.

Gavin continued, "I wound up breaking the guy's jaw." He pointed to a dude in a leather jacket, who looked passed out at a back table. "Plus, Gerri," he looked to the dance floor, "looks like she's a bit out of control."

I followed his gaze and saw Tegan(Geri), she was dancing drunkenly with three or four guys. As many girls seemed pretty pissed in a secondary ring, trying to get the attention of their men. Tegan (Geri) had that strange blissful look that I had seen on several of the other Kendal survivors in the last few days.

"Plus," Gavin (Hank) said, "I can't seem to turn this off." He indicated his skin again.

I tried to reassure Wall-man that none of the unchanged seemed to notice his condition. I also agreed with Gavin (Hank) and we waded into to the dancers to extricate our model hot, auburn haired compatriot. As I got closer to the angry girls, it was like I smelled bar-b-que or fresh popcorn. I could tell it was coming from those girls and it made my mental mouth water. It was not strong like the car wreck, but there was more of it around. I would have stayed to pursue the sensation, but it started to fade as soon as Gavin (Hank) grabbed Tegan (Gerri) and pulled her away. Once the object of masculine desire was gone the girls were still mad, but more focused on regaining the boys' attentions.

We found Wade (Ken) out back by the alley entrance, he looked shaken, but heartier than he had. Heartier in the way that I felt after passing the wreck and the angry girls just a few minutes earlier. Only the middle-aged divorcée seemed more so; not as much as Tegan (Gerri), though.

"What happened to the girl?" Gavin (Hank) asked Wade (Ken), clearly concerned in the way that civil servants get—he was still a fireman in many ways.

The fencer was leaning back on the alley wall, scarred hands on his thighs, like his knees were shaky. Wade (Ken) took a breath to organize his thoughts, then explained. "She's okay. I just got her into a taxi." He was thoughtful a moment. "She was… very drunk or drugged, or both… but when that guy scared her, I was like drawn to her—like she seemed tasty. When I caught up with her out here, she thought I was him or like him, and was terrified. I felt like someone had pumped me full of morphine." He spoke hesitantly, trying to gauge our reactions.

We were all a little relieved. What he was saying matched things we had felt. We started walking to the Festiva.

"I tried to calm her down," Wade (Ken) continued, "and it worked. The calmer she got, the less of that feeling I had. I decided not to experiment with trying to frighten her again here. And she was too doped up to talk clearly. So, I called the taxi and had him take her to the address she claimed was home." He sounded a little regretful, in the same way I had felt leaving the ring of angry girlfriends minutes earlier.

Gavin (Hank) explained, "I had also been attracted to her. Actually, I noticed her without seeing her, when the rape-y guy started to make his move." He shrugged wide and sharp squared shoulders. "I just wanted to punch the guy, more than chase the strange sensation the girl was emitting." Gavin (Hank) also recapped for Wade (Ken) and Tegan (Gerri) that he did not know what was going on with his skin.

By this time, our military trainee was back to normal, except more happy and energized than any of us had felt since returning from wherever Aanwynn had taken us. Tegan (Gerri) Colgate perfect smile filled her whole apple perfect face, puckering deep, delicious dimples into cherubic cheeks, she explained "Well it was kind of embarrassing," she looked down and bit her pillowy lower lip, and the pink blush surrounding her freckles made her seem far more coquettish than ashamed, "but that feeling's what happened to me at the library. That teenage boy in the corner had been looking at porn." Tegan (Gerri) took a deep calming breath that had the opposite effect on me.

"It's not like I was aroused, but something about him was… exciting." Tegan (Gerri) moved on quickly. "Then tonight, I didn't finish more than half of a beer, but I felt intoxicated right away. All the men _and_ women looking at each other… It was great!" She reined in her thoughts again. "But what does it mean? We're emotion vampires now? And what about Tom, he didn't react to any of it right?" She turned to me.

I forced my thoughts away from rosy lips and emerald eyes and curves that should have warning signs posted. I recounted my experiences around anger. Then, the four of us all repeated the short versions for the others at the house. I went to bed while they stayed up and tried to divine meaning via speculation. I fell asleep to my own speculations, while I practiced slowly increasing and decreasing the false moonlight around me.

I did not like the mention of being a vampire Tegan had made. I had work against images of Solanna's groping hand-mouths. I certainly avoided looking too closely at my own palms. On the other h… contrarily, other than the nurse Solanna had gotten to, all the other people we seemed to draw from seemed unaware and unharmed.

And what does "draw from" mean? Clearly we gained something, but what? Power? Essence? I certainly felt like the emptiness I had been feeling was lessened... I drifted off.


	5. Chapter 5

Day 5, November 12th

Brights and darks, softs and firms, roars and whispers, aromas and odors, bitters and sweets…

Another night free of dreams or at least free from the memory of them. Considering how much confusion I had over so many things, I was surprised. Before signing Aanwynn's contract, confusion and anxiety always gave me nightmares.

Gavin was back to his almost tan flesh colored, hard clay looking self. I had not registered it the night before, but big earthen man's yellowed wrist and neck tan bands had looked metallic (maybe bronze) when the rest of his skin had been like concrete. I was surprised when the usually gabby Gavin did not want to talk about the transformation, he just acted like all impossible things where true now, so why bother worrying about this one?

Our whole commune shared breakfast again. I was a passable cook, but Tallwind and Wade really knew their way around kitchen tools. We again ate standing around or sitting on the floor, as would become very familiar. Whoever staked out the limited kitchen counter space, at any given meal, won the only hard surface—other than the floor—large enough to hold a plate and glass. At least, we had bought ceramic tableware, metal utensils, and proper glasses and they had now been washed.

All of us seemed to act a great deal more comfortable in our new digs, at least emotionally. The no furniture made physical comfort iffy. I suspected that since no one else mentioned any bad dreams, that they too had slept well for two nights in a row and that must have contributed greatly to everyone's more relaxed states.

I was also surprised to see that the pallid platinum blond, Solanna, was at breakfast, sitting in the alcove/vestibule for the front door—the darkest corner within the living room or kitchen. The drawn-looking woman wore mid-calf black hiking boots, an ankle-length black skirt with web-like black satin lace overskirt, a low cut black spaghetti strap tank top, and a wide clack band to keep her dry white hair back. Solanna had also found some dark blue and purple makeup to over emphasize her sunken features. The goth girl used her dark woolen pea-coat as a cushion.

Runner mumble-gargled an explanation that he had found the wan Lit GA near the hospital last night and invited her to come back with him.

Solanna, settled her plate on her crossed legs and said, "Kyle, told me about how everyone clubbed in for this place and suggested it might be okay for me to join in. He said it was, like a hundred and fifty bucks and I would be happy to cover a share."

While I found Solanna unsettling, I had no objection to having her help with the rent and in turn giving another Kendal refugee some shelter. Everyone else agreed as easily and after we ate I calculated the lank-haired girls share, collected it, then re-dispersed even portions to the rest of us.

The discussion quickly became largely centered on the emotion vampirism Tegan, Wade, Gavin, and I had identified the night before. Most of the others expressed that they had not consciously realized any similar effects from strong emotions, yet they did feel like it might be true for them as well. Solanna admitted she had been benefitting from the fear of people in the hospital, since we had last seen her.

I noticed Solanna's eyes were now solid black, like they were all pupil, and not as shiny as most. Which reminded me of how her irises seemed to darken and spread when Solanna had sucked vitality from a nurse. So, I was confused by the dead eyed lady's claim to draw on fear. We had all seen Solanna gain strength from use of mouths in her palms. Yet, she spoke of consuming fear as we had our various emotions. We had manifested no additional orifices, nor had she mentioned her hands particularly. The nurse Solanna had used her hand-mouths on had physically weakened as if drained, none of the people we had pulled emotion from had reacted physically. I was creeped out by Solanna's hand-mouths, so did not want to bring them into the discussion. In truth, I was still employing denial about the orifices and the nurse—if it's not mentioned, then it did not happen. However, my musing made me think that our emotion draining might not really be vampirism, as whatever the pasty-skinned woman did was so much closer to the mythologies.

Solanna mentioned lurking in the shadows around O'Bleness Memorial and I was jarred from one lane of thought to another. The cheerful-creepy lady had spoken in a jesting tone, but it triggered the feeling in me again: the feeling of a dark wood and her even darker within it…Sol, Sol something or something Sol. That was the name she uses. I wandered why I had not made the connection earlier, as Sol was to Solanna so like Tommy was Tom. The nearly monochromatic lady must have used her real name as a basis for her safe name, as I had, yet something about the quality of the safe name kept it from easy connection to its true source… Or, I was slipping further into madness.

Of course, if I was wrong about these pseudonyms, then why was Sol's the only one that I gave similar qualities to my own? The pondering was starting to make my head throb, so I left the ideas alone for a while.

The meeting broke up and, in turn, helped me think about more immediate things. With no better solutions at hand, we scattered for the day. I sometimes think that I am single-minded, but I am not even in Rai's league, the engineer barely stopped working on his Suzuki long enough to eat. Runner was picking up as many hours as he could in his cab. Tallwind vowed to make a more concerted job hunt. Gavin wanted some more cash before he would be able to bounce again, so he took a couple more odd jobs. Tegan and Wade went to their respective jobs. Sol crashed in the room she would share with Tegan.

That was another aspect of what disturbed me about the sallow woman, she seemed to be allergic to sunlight. Apparently to the extent of sleeping through the day and acting only at night as much as possible. I made a mental note to track Tegan's outward health after she and Sol had slept in the same place alone.

The skies and weather report (from the Festiva's radio) promised another clear, dry day. The temperature was still higher than average, in the upper 50s.

I drove Gavin and Tallwind to the library. While we were there, I wrote up a generic contract for services or goods provided. I knew it was a shot in the dark, but contracts seemed to be important in this new world of fey creatures that I was in and I wanted to try and take some control, rather than feeling like everyone else had some advantage over me.

The librarians had started to recognize us, since we had been showing up every day. They were probably concerned that we were homeless, but did not bother us. If any of us were caught asleep there, or made any ruckus, then the librarians would almost certainly have banned the offender. As it stood, we were all cleaner than the first couple of visits and observed the library's rules, so no one bothered us.

I left the fire-scarred Tallwind and the fireman and went to Sheaves & Leaves to locate Dr. Peter Dionysus. The cute lady, with her short bouncy blond curls, was at the bookstore's front desk again, so I smiled and said, "Hello, uh Philomena?"

The clerk's eyes twinkled behind her large gladded and she beamed a smile back at my remembering her name.

"I was wondering if you could tell me if Dr. Dionysus is on the premises?"

"Oh, probably, he sthpendsth mostht daysth in the garden." Philomena's lisp was light and easily understood, yet I found it delightfully distracting.

I thanked the receptionist and headed on. I smiled and nodded a passing hello to the lady behind the pastry counter of the tea room as I past through—she had two small horns growing from her forehead, like Dionysus, but face tattoos of blue and white diamonds that made me suspect she was not a faun or satyr. From there it was a short trip through the rare books collection to the French doors that led the English style sitting garden. Truthfully, it was more of an outside room with the three story high building defining three walls and the thick forest tree line making the fourth, roughly one hundred yards to the south.

I saw Dr. D straight away, sitting on a stone bench. The satyr was reading a book with his goat hooves crossed before him. The doctor placed a marker in his book and set it aside as I approached.

There were other changelings eating, reading, talking, or gamboling in the garden. The strange people were of many varied shapes, sizes, colors, and demeanors would pass. I would come to expect t least a half dozen lemurs, some partially clothed. At that time, however, I was trying to avoid being distracted, so I shut out the wonders around me as best I could.

After pleasant greeting and my reminding him of his offer to teach me about the Fetch/doppelgangers, I produced the contracts I had made at the public library. I filled out the appropriate blanks on the forms and had my would be instructor agree to the terms, then we signed—in triplicate. Dionysus treated the matter as unnecessary, yet not so much that he did not take it seriously.

As sib as we both signed the papers, I felt the odd swell rush over me again. like when I had dealt with Jack for my car, as well as others. Only this time the oddly comforting and compelling sensation that settled in my chest was stronger. Once I passed the goat-man four rolls of dollar coins, the sense urgency within the mystery feeling dissipated, leaving only the comforting sense of anticipation.

Then I passed Dionysus his copy of the contract and we settled down to the subject matter.

We sat in the garden and talked. The garden that was easily 72 degrees, while the rest of Athens was barely 60. Dionysus wore a leather elbowed tweed blazer, plumb colored vest, white shirt and brown tie. The tie was knotted with a knot more fancy than a standard Windsor. He had no pants or shoes to cover his furry goat-like legs and hooves. However the tails of his shirt did hang far enough to afford some decorum. At least until we sat at one of the marble benches, then the shirt rode up and I made every effort to maintain eye contact.

Dr. D opened the conversation by offering me a snack. The instructor had a plate of what looked like large raspberries on the bench next to him. The satyr held the plate toward me and said, "Snozberry?"

I considered the possible danger, many fairy stories warn against eating the food a magical creatures or realms. On the other hand, I was already trapped as part of this new world, so eating the food could not make me more so. I did wonder of the good doctor might poison of drug me. Then decided that the faun-man had agreed to the terms of my contract and had not yet satisfied his end, so harming or addling me would probably not be in his best interest. Lastly, I chided myself for finding the magical world around me enticing, but not enough to partake of it's fruits.

"I believe I shall." I said and popped one of the berries into my mouth….

The snozberry juice was thick and tangy with a flavor similar to a blackberry or raspberry, but earthier. I only chewed and swallowed for a moment or two and I only had the one berry, yet I was immediately sated. I felt like I had just completed a large three or four course meal. I made certain to study the appearance of Dionysus's remaining snozberries for future reference. The fulfilling effect did indeed last as long as a hearty meal would have.

"So what is it you want to know?" the goat-y doctor asked first.

I told him what I had discovered of the Fetch. I tried to keep the information concise, as I gestured, occasionally trying to find the right words. Eventually, I explained, "I want to get rid of my Fetch. Primarily, I want to know how to achieve this goal."

Dionysus eyebrows went up and his eyes opened wider behind his half-moon spectacles, and asked, "Why do care about the pale imitation?"

"Because he has my life and he's ruined people opinions of me-at least the people I cared about." I answered, a little confused that the reasons were not obvious.

"Alright," the doctor tried another tack, holding out his left hand palm up and pointing his index finger at me, "Why do you even want your old life back? You are changed and replacing your Fetch won't undo that."

I considered what he said a moment. I realized there were bigger issues for me to think about and did not want to be derailed, so I pressed on. "I'm not sure that I do want my life back. I just know I don't want him to have it. Plus, look-a-likes in stories, usually mean trouble, so I want to be prepared."

Dionysus still seemed to think my interest in Fetch was fruitless. Even so, he answered my questions to the best of his ability. Dionysus's academic nature caused him to seem pleased at the preliminary research I had done, in particular he was impressed with the number of names I had found for Spirit Eaters. The goaty fellow favored Fetch as a designator, however, as he put it, "Firstly, "fetch" is the more common usage in this area of the world. Secondly, fetch is a suitably unpleasant sounding word for such unpleasant creatures. All the other names seem exotic or poetic."

I agreed with the sentiment to start with and more so after my lesson. Fetch are made things, like Gentry versions of robots. The Gentry sometime make a fetch to replace someone they take. As the fetch is usually very young it is likely to grow up never knowing its true nature. If an older person is taken, then the fetch may have a harder time trying to live a life that it does not have all the experiences for. Fetch do eat the shadows of those near them. Shadows regrow, like blood or emotions. Fetch are made of powerful forces and can wield them, if they realize what they are. However, they have no specific strength or weaknesses. The closer the true person gets to the fetch that replaced them, the more aware the fetch becomes of their own nature. The longer a fetch is around the more attached it is likely to be to the life it was imitating, therefore, more likely to fight to keep it. Seven years _is_ a long time in these terms.

There were more details and nuance in what Dionysus said and I may have forgotten certain points. No matter what, I had to pay one hundred dollars, so you reader, should be glad I freely provided here as much as I have.

I did ask early on in the discussion, "Uh, you said 'Gentry', are those faeries?"

Dionysus sucked in a breath and looked around furtively, as he answered in an indignant whisper. "We do not call them faeries. The true fae, if you must. However, Gentry, Masters, Keepers, or Shining Ones are the safest references."

I filed the information away while we continued our Shadow Eater/Fetch talk. It was clear from Dionysus's body language and response that he believed that just speaking the wrong words could be dangerous. I knew from fairy tales I had read, as well as some of the research I had done just the other day, that many stories have ill-considered conversations causing unwanted consequences. Now that my world turned out to be filled with magic, I was reticent to discount the stories' validity. Also, Dionysus may just have been worried about eavesdroppers and considerations of social propriety, which is still a good enough reason to adhere to his advice.

After my one time lesson, I did spend a little time in the stacks as well. Between Dr D's comments and some of the things I read, I realized that words, names in particular, are important. The importance seems to lead to an over abundance. The more important a thing the more names by which it was known, I already covered Fetch pseudonyms and a few more the Gentry went by include the Seelie, the Unseelie, and Sidhe (pronounced "she"). Additionally, The Maze is also the Edge, Inbetween, Never-never, Neverwhere, the Tangle, the Thorns, and many more—apparently most popular in that period and area was the Hedge. While slightly confusing, I did find the phenomena somewhat soothing, after all I myself had already amassed my real name, my fake ID of Thomas White, and Twilight Tommy. Plus, I enjoyed the cross referencing/research aspect it brought to daily life.

On my way out, I left the second copy of the contract Dionysus and I had signed with Philomena at the front desk.

"What isth thisth?" She said looking quizzically at the page I had placed on her desk.

"Dr. Dionysus and I created and fulfilled a contract on the premises. That is the portion I owe the proprietor." I said with a grin.

The clerk seemed to suppress a laugh, nodded, and took the paper. I did notice that she had some pamphlets on her desk as well, they seemed to all be from women's shelters. I was not sure how I felt about that and decided to not pry at that time.

My housemates and I had regrouped back at our little rented ranch. We had another communal meal and what-did-you-do-today story time. I was again grateful that we figured out that making our own food was so much kinder to our taste buds.

I conveyed what I had learned of the fetch. My dinner companions were universally disinterested. Looking back, I can only surmise, they had too many new, confounding, and distressing things to cope with and dealing with their false selves was too big right then. Or, they were just jonesing.

Mostly the rest of them just claimed there days were uneventful and wanted to talk about going to another night club. There was a strong desire to verify that they could draw weird vitality from other people's emotions, as well as practice how. Everyone except Rai, who was still obsessively working on his bike, and Mike who not been seen since he ditched me and Gavin at Sheaves & Leaves.

Also, I say "weird vitality" because we did not have a better word for it yet. It was not sustenance. We still grew hungry and ate food normally, as long as it was not industrially processed. The sensation we drew from emotions was invigorating and enlivening and somewhat intoxicating, but it was also indescribably weird as well—sort of like the effect floated around behind our brains.

The seven of us split between my Festiva and Runner's hack. We wound up at the Union Bar & Grill, a two story establishment with live music and a dance floor upstairs. It took less than thirty minutes to verified three relevant emotional states—pleasure, fear, and anger. Each of us was only drawn to one of these emotions. I was the only one who gained anything from anger, of which I was mildly proud. The rest of them were evenly split—Tegan, Tallwind, Runner for pleasure and Sol, Wade, Gavin for fear. Our auburn-haired beauty reported that lust was the best form of pleasure, but any true happiness would do. Similarly, I experience varying levels of satisfaction ranging from peevish or irritated up through full on rage.

I felt that it was fortunate we all went together. In those first few days of getting used to the rush of consumed emotion, it tended to make us a little unstable, like drunk teenagers. As a group we could watch out for each other. If I was getting close to a furious jock, I might be to blissed to notice him about to swing at me. Since none of the others were affected by the anger, they could step in and get me away before I got pummeled. Or if some girls were afraid because the old guys were coming on too strong, Sol or Tegan could intervene before the bouncers did.

I also noticed that Sol was practically vivacious. Having only seen the gregarious blond during the day, since our escape from wherever Dr. Aanwynn had trapped us, I thought she had become permanently sickly. When the sun is up the Lit major's skin seems waxy at best and dead at other times, she seems to lack any muscle tone, she moves like she's nauseous, and even her long straight, ash white hair was dull and brittle looking. At night Sol's bubbly nature returns and skin became taught and silky against well-defined muscled while her sheet of platinum hair shimmered and swayed as it swept across her shoulders and back. The goth attire even seemed to hang differently on the lady, what had seemed frumpy and dowdy, instead read as clingy, perky, and teasing.

I thought Sol's alterations only made the woman seem more disturbingly vampiric. I tried to convince myself it was simply an appearance that the currently lustrous lady liked to affect, then I remembered the nurse collapsing and the hungry mouths and grasping fingers. I settled for hoping that Sol had no taste for what I had become. That said however, as a member of our group, I was glad the mysterious woman did not always seem to be ill.

It was a satisfying day. I still went to sleep nervous and uncertain, I still had not regained the life I wanted and I had much to learn. However, the anger I had collected had sated the empty sense I had been feeling and Sheaves & Leaves gave me hope that answers could be found.


	6. Chapter 6

Day 6, November 13th

sniff… blink…swallow… perk… snap…

When Sunday brunch arrived, I was too focused on my plans for the day to pay much attention to the others. I do recall Rai finally realized he needed more money. Wade said he'd help the panther-man get in at the Jiffy Lube. The rest probably said things as well. I scrambled some eggs and ate them with a cup of tea.

I let the movement and talk of the others just float around me, better to not disturb the tentative peace I was starting to feel. I had shelter, transportation, a sense of what had happened to me, and a line on income to maintain the shelter, transportation and food. I accepted that I was really just taking other people's word for my fae condition, but philosophically speaking, I did the same in the past when others claimed I was human. I chose to take solace in the majority consensus in what being a changeling was. Plus, on the job front, I would be making far more the paltry sums most of my older and more educated cohorts were settling for.

I did not even let the drizzly grey weather get me down. I drove my Festiva and let some pop music and commercials keep me from thinking too hard.

I spent most of the day at Athens Library studying mixology. Every time I found myself opening the library door to use their computers, I thought, "Soon as I can, I have to get a laptop… or maybe one of these new smart phones." At least with the bartending research there were also actual books to reference as well, so the public space felt more necessary.

I did take a break from the studying to venture out into the rain for lunch—salad and fruit from the Kroger deli. I also swung by The Gap to buy a couple more shirts and a pair of pants. I wanted to look like I fit in with the other employees, when I returned to Elements.

The librarians seemed more receptive to my presence. I think I scored approval points by reading the books. I also believe the staff was just more relaxed for me not being part of a gang of three or more seedy looking characters.

At dinner most of my housemates invited themselves along to Elements. I only cared insomuch that I did not want them messing with my chances at getting the job. For example, as far as I could tell, I was the only one of us to invest in more than two sets of clothes and I was certainly the only one that shopped outside of Wal-Mart.

Tegan mentioned in general, as she passed the wine bottle to Tallwind. "So, I seem to be persuading people a lot." She started to assemble a fajita from the fixings she had placed on her plate from the buffet line we had set up on the kitchen counter. "Like more than by just reasoning with them. I tested it a couple of times and got people to do pretty much whatever I wanted. Anyone else getting the same effect?"

"What, like you can mind-control people?" Hank asked, a fajita in his massive hands, paused halfway to his mouth.

Tegan shook her head, sending hair deep red hair dancing, chewed, swallowed, and said, "No. It's not like I know what they are thinking, or that I can put thoughts into the heads. It's more like…well, if I really want someone to do something and I have spent a few minutes near them, then all I have to do is ask and they pretty much do whatever it is. They act like they just want to make me happy."

"Okay," I said, from my spot on the floor across from her and Tallwind, "sounds like spontaneous hypnosis, more than telepathy. Do you need to keep concentrating on the target to get them to keep doing whatever?" I flapped my hand vaguely. I also wondered if she was just experiencing the hot-chick-effect of guys willing to do anything for her on the off chance she might spontaneously jump their bones. "And is it just men?"

"No," Tegan smiled as pink bloomed subtly on her cheeks, causing the green of her eyes to pop, "It effected men _and_ women." Her emerald orbs sparkled with a mischievous thought. "and at least one of the women was totally married with kids." She ticked her auburn tresses behind her left ear. "As for the other part, the effect seems to wear off after they have been away from me for a few minutes. It lasts longer the less complicated my suggestion, but still no more than ten or fifteen minutes as far as I can tell. And I don't seem to have to concentrate on them."

Wade sipped some wine, then asked Tegan, "So, do you feel anything when this happens?"

I considered again whether I cared enough to buy some wine glasses for our place. I was avoiding most alcohol, until I was sure it would not effect me any more adversely than before my change. However, I did think it was sad every time I saw one of the others sipping wine from a coffee mug or juice tumbler. On the other hand, it was also entertaining when they had to drink that way and I did not.

"It makes me feel…" Tegan closed her eyes demurely to find the word she wanted. "Drained, I guess is the best I can do. Like the opposite of the boost I get from other people's pleasure. Like some of that energy, or whatever, gets used up."

Which prompted the discussion that led to everyone wanting to come to Elements for another emotion buffet. It was also resolved that no one else had mystically hypnotized anyone, but we had not tried either.

Rai had actually been experiencing a rare moment of paying attention to us, rather than whatever calculations were normally running in his head. Even though potential linebacker had been in the room at the previous meals when we detailed our experiences, we had to tell him again about the emotion eating.

"That sounds like what happened with me and the kid the other day." Rai's voice was low and velvety, his slit golden eyes stared into a middle space, and he sounded somewhat relieved, yet also still confused, "I was afraid it was 'cause she was a kid… but she didn't show any of the emotions you all mentioned." He was crouched by the living room's picture window, balancing a plate of fajitas in his (almost plate-sized) left hand while he ate with his right.

"Did it happen at any other time?" Gavin asked from the hall entry to the living room, preferring to stand most of the time. The roughly sculpted man was holding his emptied plate and glass, waiting to make sure everyone else had eaten, before going back for thirds.

Rai thought, while he chewed, his cat-ish ears flexed low and to the sides, "Yeah, I guess it did a little while later when I passed a homeless dude. I was thinking that since the hunger awoke, I was just targeting the weak."

I was pleasantly surprised at the concern in Rai's voice. Since Panthro so rarely seemed to be listening, I had been thinking of him as emotionless. Rai's admission not only displayed emotion, but empathetic caring emotion. I started to wonder if the big guy only felt that way about normal people, though, since he never displayed it towards the rest of us in the house.

Tallwind dropped his fork to his plate and snapped his fingers with epiphany, "That's why you've been holed up on the garage. You've been avoiding temptation of eating someone."

Rai nodded confessionally and did not meet anyone's eyes for a while. We were all amused, but contained ourselves. Except Sol, she remained serious and tried to not be noticed during this, leaning further back into shadowy alcove where the living room met the front and a coat closet doors.

I remembered again, several mornings earlier, in at O'Bleness, sipping apple juice, while a nurse tried to help Sol. I remembered the nurse collapsing under the touch of sickly pale hands and the mouths that had appeared within those palms closing to invisibility when the nurse was forcibly dragged away. I especially remembered how revitalized the pale blond had been afterwards. I had agreed with the others to let the morbid monochrome maven join our ranks. I decided that if I was going to judge Rai or any of the others, it would be after I figured out my own situation.

"So," Wade sat lotus style with his plate in his lap and asked Rai, "did they have anything in common emotionally?" He only gestured a little towards the large cat guy with the fork in his scarred hand.

Rai looked blank, blinking very slowly.

"Well," I remembered, "the kid was crying up a storm." I knelt closest to Rai, using the other corner of the picture window's sill to rest my glass of juice.

"Yeah," Tegan added, coming into the room from the kitchen where she had just dropped off her dirty utensils, "and a homeless guy was likely to be pretty miserable. She turned to Rai, "You probably crave sadness."

I nodded, swallowed, and added, "Yeah, Just 'cause we found three emotions that suited us, doesn't mean there can't be others."

Rai was skeptical, but he agreed it made sense. He said it in the way I would have a few days earlier. Like it did make sense, _assuming_ what we were saying was possible and not just ongoing madness.

That led to speculation as to where best to test the misery theory. In the end, Sol mentioned that the chapel in the hospital usually has one or two grieving people. She offered to take Rai and he agreed.

The day had continued with the warmer than expected trend, but was still a little chilly. The sun had stayed hidden in a horizon to horizon blanket of grey, at least the precipitation had stopped mid-afternoon. The air smelled more like autumn than early winter, at least when it did not smell like exhaust, ozone, or some other chemical. By nightfall the clouds remained, creating deeper shadows cast by various artificial lights. The temperature started to drop, but was not really noticeable until we left Elements around 2:00 am.

At Elements, the others didn't give me any trouble while I worked behind the bar with the manager Dave watching. After a couple of hours, Dave called me into his office. I had the impression that he was half-heartedly interested in hiring me, at best. So, I tried to influence him the way Tegan had described she was able to. While I talked, I concentrated on what I wanted and tried to remember the feeling of being near anger. It worked. It was subtle, I still had to voice my desires, but I felt was picking the right words more easily than normal. Dave was not going to sign over the bar, but he did start giving more of what I asked for- more than a bargainer should. Just to see how far I could go, I tried to solidify a position for Gavin. Again successful, but by then I was starting to feel the drain Tegan had talked about. I took my win and went to finish the shift.

Again, when the bargaining ended and Dave shook my hand over the agreed terms, I felt a quick surge of sensation course threw me and settle in my chest. The feeling was stronger than the last time I dealt with Dave, yet not nearly as potent as my meeting with Peter Dionysus. Plus, this time the mix of anxious obligation verses soothing expectation was heavily weighted to my comfort.

I was absolutely certain that deal making was the key by that point. I just had no idea where to start to research the meaning or effects of these deals… Well, I could go to Ariadne's Law section, but was admittedly intimidated by the sections scope and the dense legalese I had encountered in the few books I had perused from there. If I remembered, I might try and pay Dionysus for the information.

I did try provoking one customer into anger by messing with his change. It worked a little, I got some weird-vigor—or whatever the feeling was. The sensing of rage was like the smell of a lover and the promise of warm food on a cold day. The actual gathering in of another's anger was like lightening to my spirit, it did not make me happier per se, but it filled me with more confidence and sense of safety. The whole experience was also quite intense and intoxicating, at least for the moments it took to complete, hence the blissful expressions I had seen on others and had experienced when driving passed the enraged driver at the car accident the other day.

I did not let it go very long with my bar customer, nor did I try to rile him further. I felt like I could have, but I had just put a lot of effort into getting the job and did not want to risk the guy complaining to Dave. Plus, I wanted to prove to myself that I could control these urges.

At closing time, I collected my under-the-table wages and my housemates and headed home. Normally, Dave would only pay weekly—even for the cash and carry employees—but my special efforts had garnered me a pay as I go plan. Gavin was stuck with waiting for Sunday.

Dave also told me and Gavin to be back on Wednesday by ten. It was easier than ever to fall asleep—fatigue from working, a pocket full of money, and a guarantee of more to come, was all very comforting. Plus, knowing I could sleep until noon helped as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Day 7, November 14th

_Zoom… whoosh… swoop… rise… hover… glide… float… ease.. drift… CRASH_

My plan to sleep well into the morning was foiled. Tallwind and Mike were banging on the various bedroom doors and called us all outside, just past sunrise. Only eight of us gathered on the front lawn since Sol had not returned with Rai last night, while Tallwind was just coming home with misty haired Mike in tow.

The sky was still a blanket of clouds, tinted rose and salmon by the rising sun. the clouds were also thinner than the day before, so the light was reasonably bright. Our group made our own short lived clouds with the plumes of breath that billowed forth into the chill.

Combined with my too little sleep, my eyes ached in the luminance and at what they saw. In the dark, none of the rest of us had noticed, but Tallwind and Mike did not have that luxury in dawn's light. The front of our little rental had been heavily graffitied. By Tallwind's assessment, two or more people with cans of true red spray paint had "decorated" our suburban house front with giant penises and other lewdness. Amid the swear words, the phrase "HOBBS GO HOME" stood out. I felt an inexplicable chill greater than what the morning air could produce.

Tallwind snapped into his private eye mode, squatting around the shrubbery and squinting at the ground and lawn, eventually he walked off into the neighborhood to look for clues. Rai ignored the situation and returned to the garage. Runner, Wade, Tegan, and Gavin all left and went to their jobs or to see if they could find out anything from Sheaves & Leaves or the library. Mike surprised me by offering to do the labor of repainting the house if someone else bought the paint.

I wanted to sleep, but wanted the house made presentable even more. So, since I had gotten paid better than I had expected, I drove to Lowe's and bought the painting supplies. I tried to raise my spirits, the siding had been a dingy white, I replaced it with a cheerful, pale yellow and summery green for the trim. In addition to the paint, I picked up some one-by-fours and some three inch nails. Then, swung by Wal-Mart and picked up a small TV/radio (plug in and battery powered options), a lot more salt, and a cheap track phone—so much for my pay.

While Mike painted, I left my new phone's number on the list of housemate numbers on the fridge. Then I completed one of the salt rituals I had discovered in the book Tegan had half-jokingly given to me. It involved a lot of floor scrubbing and sweeping the salt out in a particular manner. If successful, I cleared out any bad mojo and warded the house from malignant spirits entering. Then I hammered nails through the boards. The nails speared out of one side of the wood in irregular rows. Later, when Mike had finished, I laid the boards on the ground against the house, in the bushes flower beds. The nails pointed upwards. I lightly covered the wood with dirt.

The TV I plugged in and watched. Specifically, I found one of those daytime talk show/white trash tragedy fests. When the chairs started flying, I did my best to soak in the rage. It was fruitless, but I felt that I had to try. Mike came in and wanted to know what I was doing. I took the opportunity to bust his balls over slacking at his work. I succeeded in riling the programmer up, but had no success drawing on his rage either. Although, I did feel disproportionately pleased to get his goat.

Even so, afterwards, I did share with Mike what the group had discovered about emotions. I ended my monolog with, "So, I was just checking to see if the emotions have to be live and in person. They do." II screwed up my face in thought, then shook it off and said, "Oh, by the way, as far as I'm concerned the paint job is enough to cover your share of the first month's rent… If you're interested in sharing floor space here. I'm sure none of the others would mind. Next month will be about a hundred and forty bucks, though."

Mike smiled with lightning crooked, yet impressively white, teeth. "Sounds good to me." He gulped down the last of the water for which he had come in. "You know, it occurs to me, if your looking for lots of reliably angry people you should go hang at the airport or DMV."

I rolled my eyes and said "Thanks, I'll think about it." And Mike grunted a suit yourself noise and went back outside. I regretted, a little, having shown him where I had placed the spiked boards.

Something about my pleasure at annoying the blue eye bozo and my contempt for his idea about the DMV, clicked in my mind. That is when I knew he had protected his Mike name with Russel. I wanted to chide him as Rusty, but he would say his name was something- Russel, just as Tegan was Tegan something.

Honestly though, cloud head's big guess was the DMV. I have never been angry or seen any angry at a DMV—Impatience, worry, despair, absolutely, but never anger. And while the airport was only a twenty minute drive, it's not exactly a TSA nightmare—from what I saw years ago, it pretty small and rarely has many people at it to be made upset by delays or mishandled luggage. Even so, the suggestions got me thinking and I added a set of searches to my to-do-list for the library.

When we gathered for dinner, the others had not discovered much, Russel had finished repainting the house, though.

Tegan was in a different, fully buttoned, flannel shirt (green and blue, instead of Green and brown), it was just as unflattering and her figure was just as able to compensate. She was cutting up some of the roast chicken and vegetables I had made while everyone else was away. "I talked to a few people at Sheaves & Leaves, today. One of them claimed that 'hob' is a derogatory term used for weaker Spirit Touched—it's like peasant or lackey, only ruder. So whoever tagged our house, must know our nature." She always forgot to put her hair up before starting to eat from the plate in her lap, so a shinny auburn curtain draped her delicately tapered face when she leaned forward to bite the potato from her fork. "Oh," Tegan raise her flattened hand to obscure her red petal mouth as she spoke while chewing, "and around here it's more common to say Changeling than Spirit Touched."

I realized that I had heard Dr. Dionysus use the word changeling and had forgotten to pass the information on. I reflected that Changeling in lieu of Spirit Touched was yet another multi-name situation. Much like Fetch, Changeling was less poetic to my ears. However, Changeling felt more right, especially considering the bits of folklore that I could recall that referred to changelings. I wondered if I was more familiar with Asian myths and folk tales would that make Spirit touched and Spirit Eater seem more right?

The agitated conversation drew me back out of my distracted musings. The group was all on edge. More so with the revelation that the hostile display was caused by someone that might know of our modified lives. So, we agreed to keep watches, in teams of twos or threes, through the night. I took the middle shift, as it matched up best with the shift I would be working at Elements. Runner joined me, as he seemed to sleep randomly anyway.

Somewhere in the evenings discussion, Tallwind revealed that he had gotten a job—dancing in a crowned pizza suit to drive customers to The Pizza Palace. I enjoyed the absurdity and indignity of the idea of the stiff sided bag of wrinkles in a smelly mascot costume, as much as I was dumbfounded that someone of his age and experience would even consider so lowly a position. I began to wonder if Tallwind really had not done much before signing Aanwynn's contract, as he implied.

I had been asleep, after my shift, for less than twenty minutes, when Gavin and Tallwind woke us all. I was impressed with myself for how little I let the disturbance sour my mood. I had slept a couple of hours prior to sitting my shift in the living room, while Runner watched the back yard. Even so, I had not had much rest since being woken at dawn and I was glad that I felt aware and alert, as soon as Gavin's coarse brick hand started to shake me.

In the living room, Gavin's eye's were a little wild, as he explained, "I saw them smash our mailbox." We went to the window, while he continued, "I heard a car with blaring music coming down the street and there was some odd banging. Just as I got to the window, they were passing out front." He swallowed and seemed to decide to continue, in spite of knowing how it was going to sound.

"The car was a dark hatchback, beater of some kind. It was full of like six or eight of them. Some were hanging out of the windows on either side. A couple had baseball bats. They smashed the mailbox with a bat as they passed." He gestured to the street and shattered mail box as he spoke. Gavin swallowed again convincing himself to say what he believed he had seen. "The thing is, they weren't like people. They sort of looked like frat kids in 'Reds hats. But I got a good look in the street light. They had sort of lumpy faces and their mouths were too big and full of really sharp teeth… and the hats were dripping red. I'm sure it was blood."

"Redcaps," I blurted reflexively, thinking of a Lit. class I had taken that had focused a lot on violence in classic fairy tales.

Some of the other neighbors had gone into their yards to survey the damages. I followed suit. I crossed the street to the nearest person I saw actually outside of his door. He was at his demolished mailbox. The box had clearly been a cheap model and was in no way salvageable.

The man seemed extremely infuriated. So, I caught two birds with one stone. I reached out my hand and said, "Hi there, my name's Tommy. Me and my roommates just moved in across the street." I nodded to our freshly painted rental and a few of my housemates that had moved onto our lawn.

The neighbor was in his mid thirties and a bathrobe over pajamas and slippers. He shook my hand briefly and said, "Larry." By way of introducing himself.

"So," I glanced pointedly at his shattered mail box, "this happen a lot?"

Larry glowered, "This was my third box this year." He shook his head, "I want to get one made of concrete, but who has the time to pour that out?..." another shake. "It would teach the bastards a lesson though, next time they take a bat to it." I drew in as much of his anger as possible, while still maintaining a conversation. Tegan had actually heard the process called harvesting at Sheaves and Leaves. I think it sounds crude, but then what we were doing was crude.

"Hmm," I tried too draw Larry out more, "My roommate is pretty handy, he might be able to help with a new mailbox." I was thinking of Gavin or Rai, but Russel or Tallwind could probably serve as well, if we really followed up on this offer. "So, three times, huh?"

"Yeah," Larry's anger was turning to regret, "This neighborhood started going downhill two years ago. I used to know all my neighbors, but they all got out and the renters rarely stay fore than a few months." He looked at me a little guilty and shifted the topic. "The worst thing is, it always seems to be just the same frat assholes."

"Really?" I feigned surprise. "And it's been going on this long?"

Larry shrugged and started pushing the remains of his mailbox into a pile with his feet. "They live somewhere in the area, but I don't know where exactly. The cops know, but never seem to do anything. And the assholes seem to be getting bolder and more violent." He seemed like he wanted to get angry again, but was too tired for the effort.

Well, that must have been the thing the people we sublet from had not said. Buyer beware and all that. Still, some useful information.

Larry's rage started to subside fairly quick. It must have been me talking sympathetically with him. Mostly, I think, it was my harvesting his anger. He got the sort of vacant glassy stare I thought I had seen in other… victims? Prey? Neither seemed right, but I had to admit were technically accurate. Larry was the first time I was not in a crowded place and paying attention to a bunch of other stuff. It was fascinating and sad to see. Only my sadness was because Larry's anger was gone and I wanted more. As I watched Larry go back into his house, I only regretted a little that I had not thought of something to say to make him mad again.

Back at our place, I reported what Larry had said. Tallwind admitted he might know which house was the redcap's. He had found it while searching earlier, but did not feel he had enough proof it was the people that tagged our place.

After getting properly dressed, Tallwind, Gavin, Wade, and I walked the thee blocks over to the suspected property. It was a two story, brick, colonial. Sure enough, they frat boy/redcaps—frat-caps, if you will—were inside. They were continuing to party loudly, drunkenly, and stupidly.

Their garage was not attached to their house. Gavin and I snuck up and carefully opened to verify it was the same car. It was. There were also three dog carcasses hanging from the rafters. The stench was palpable. Wade came over and found a bat in their back seat. While he took the bat, to bash their mail box, I found some sharp debris. I placed the sharp things under each of their wheels. The tires would be fine, until they backed up at all.

The goons had not heard Wade smashing their mail box. Their music was so loud the neighbor's windows buzzed to the beat.

We wanted to do more; get more satisfaction. But then we also realized that they may have powers that they understood, while we were just beginning to identify and accept our own. We decided just to go home to sleep. We were determined that the following day we would at least learn if they had any special attacks to avoid or weaknesses to exploit.

_Twilight Tommy…_Lyrical like the songs of forever calling, reminding, taunting… zoom in, see Tommy, dull fleshy creature, being sold to Master Aeolian... speed reel, show journey to His Castle in the Sky.. jump cut after jump cut, zooms, pans, and twirls… feeding on moonlight… Learning secrets of clouds… Blessed with beauty that touches hardest hearts… Struggling confusion… Gamboling and gaming in Twilight Lands… Trying to understand bright hard ways of stars… Eating stray fancies… Learning how to keep sunshine in a pocket… Forgetting Time and for the snub Time refusing to acknowledge such an arrogant, foolish boy… First hints of favor, a gossamer to tan the skin… Loosing heart's fire… Choosing the Iron Spear of the Summer-kin… Weaving shadows… Slaking hunger for magic with mortal anger… Wrapped again in rare reward, streaks of summer sun color hair gold… Slowly replacing lost heat with pure Faery light… New cold heart of a distant star… Lumor of the Fairest, burning with nothing more than self adoration… Another mantle of allegiance won, iris's flash moods as discs of gem, deep crystalline reds through typical ambers to the rarest bright yellows… Dark fade out, darker fade in… Feeling Aeolian's anger beyond reason…. See Tommy in the hospital, rediscovering the scars of the anger…

I woke with a start, causing my inflated mattress to bounce. Stiff with fear and to afraid to sweat. As I relaxed, I started to shake, the shake of muscles too long tensed being released from tension all at once. My first conscious thought was "Seven days" and it had been that exactly since returning to the world in Kendal's deserted gloom. I knew that it must be 3:00 am again as well. And I knew—laying there recalling the flashes of a much more elaborate dream—so much more than I had the days before.

Master Aeolian had bought me. I could not quite retain what the dream had shown, save for the feelings. Terrible, fickle, damning, and challenging was Aeolian—He was the Keeper I had been forced to serve. Even in generosity, He was all those things. I shivered again.

I also knew I would be considered a Lumor and a Fairest. The Fairest being one of many types of things that Aeolian could have made me into—by twisting my outlooks and attitudes and by showing me only the things a Fairest would perceive. But He wanted to burnish me, make me shine. And the shiniest are the stars and sun… bright ones, Lumors. Glowing with a celestial light a Lumor must be Fairest first, for Natures light will not embrace anything less. The pale impressions of the Shining Ones that made us—like a ventriloquist's dummy that looks almost like it's master. I clench my fists and eyes tight and tried to steady my breathing... and could not stop unpacking the dream-memories.

I knew that I had allied myself to Summer. Although I still did not know much of what that meant, the empty parts of my memories still tickled at the edges of my mind. Yet, I did now remember that my allegiance to Summer was why the me I saw in mirrors, the me other changelings saw, was as it was—perpetual golden tanned skin, sun streaked hair, and color-shifting amber irises. My pointed ears and boyish looks were an aspect of being Fairest.

The Summer Mantle also meant that I harvested wyrd from the rage of mortals. And wyrd powered my glamours, my fairy magic. The most powerful of which was also bound to me by my pact with Summer.

I remembered that True Fairy magic—magic of the Masters, the Gentry—followed rules beyond comprehension, but somehow bound promises, oaths, pacts… all forms of contracts, written or verbal. As I gave up or lost more of my mortal self, I made and was bound to such mystic pacts to survive. Weak and pale compared to Aeolian's, but they were mine to keep, or suffer the consequences. In return, I gained the ability to cast glamours.

Some glamours where so deeply ingrained that the glamour was part of what I became. The magic was so much a part of me that all of us the same Seeming, all the Fairest, shared the knowledge of turning wyrd into persuasion and conversational manipulations to sway others to do our will, while my moonbeam glow was engrained as I became Lumor. Other glamours were more personal and were found or forged as need be. In such ways, I had learned some tricks of Fortune, as well as the forces of Eternal Summer's Iron Spear.

I realized that I had once known more secret glamours than I could now recall. However, of the magic the dream did return to me, I remembered them fully—including their special tricks, their catches.

Every glamours offered a some sort of catch for it's use. Some catches were like my luminance, ingrained so that living was the only necessity, which did not preclude possibly adding more wyrd for greater effect. Most glamour catches provide ways around wasting wyrd to cast the them and are often silly things like spitting on a spark. A very few glamour's catches, such as those for manipulating Fortune, are limitations—exacting punishments for excessive use.

I knew again that there was more to wyrd than the Dream had reminded. At least I knew wyrd was the force, or energy, that I had been calling "weird vitality" gained from harvesting emotions.

I knew that True names—such as mortal mothers give their once mortal sons—could be used against the named. So, I became Twilight Tommy, to protect myself from casual cruelty at the whims of others. I my fellow changelings must have the same, so my pseudonyms for them had to be at least partially correct.

I finally understood the Mask of my old self that cameras and unchanged people saw was there to protect as well. I could drop the Mask. If I did, Aeolian, Aanwynn, or some other Gentry could be alerted of my whereabouts. And they would come, I had no doubt they would take me back. I only doubted that I could survive my punishment for having left. I shivered again.

All of this I knew again from my time in durance to Aeolian. I also knew that I was not alone in such contemplations. My roommates, Wade and Gavin, must also be awake from the sounds of their breathing. The dream and the revelations that followed left me exhausted. Eventually, I went back to sleep, reviewing all my regained knowledge over and over. I hoped to be able to retain the bounty of memories, but I could not muster the strength to move for my note pad. I assume the others did something similar.


	8. Chapter 8

Day 8, November 15th

In the morning—the proper get-up-and-have-breakfast morning—the household was more subdued than usual. Everyone was more lost in private thought. All except Rai that is: there is no gauge that measures him being more lost-in-thought than his normal state. No one offered to share any dreams this time. It figured, as soon as I wanted them blabbing about the secrets I might use, they clam up. Of course, we all had each other's given names as collateral. Not our full names per se (I know I never told them my middle name), but probably enough to cause trouble.

By the time breakfast was done, we had shaken the moodiness of the night and made plans for the day. We all went to Sheaves and Leaves to research redcaps. We were convinced they would be coming for us again—probably harder. We wanted to be ready—preferably with a strong offense versus the defense we planned to ambush.

Tallwind had gruffly advocated, "We could just burn the 'cap's house down. Preferably with them in it."

Gavin's usually jovial demeanor vanished, his face reached maximum stoniness, and his eye bore into Tallwind, "No. We do not set fires. There are innocent neighbors and a house fire can spread out of control too fast in Fall weather." Whatever had changed in him, it was not his fireman's training.

Rai's 'cycle was running, so he drove himself, in spite of the barely above forty degree temperature and drizzle slicked roads. The seven of us were split between my Festiva and Runner's taxi.

Once at Sheaves & Leaves Gavin and I went into the members area, while Wade and Tegan helped the others get their memberships sorted, including again unhealthy looking Sol, who Rai had apparently picked up at the hospital.

I made a beeline for the area marked Dark with Gavin in my wake. The cramped, little, incredibly shadowy room had made me uncomfortable the one time I had entered and my stony companion tended to make me nervous when he loomed over me, so I figured I would pit the location's creepiness against the large man's intimidating nature. The walking stone wall was most likely more stalwart than myself, so the Dark section's unsettling qualities may not even effect him.

I opened the dark wood door, set back in its shadowy alcove, and made a little bow and hand gesture to let Gavin enter, "You see what you can find here and we'll meet up in a bit."

"You betcha." The man saluted with a grin and two thick orange and pitted fingers.

I closed the door behind my oblivious ally and headed off, grinning, before he could call for my assistance. If the once upon a time fireman was not more steadfast in gloomy cramped places, then at least someone else would get to experience the chills that I had. Also, Gavin tended loom around me, posing and flexing his rough hewn muscles, making it hard to concentrate and I did not need his help for lifting books from shelves…shelves from floors or floors from buildings, certainly, but I could not imagine my research would call for such feats. So, I expected the related unease of the Dark stacks would look much more amusing on Gavin than it felt on me.

I went looking for an employee, reasoning that there must be at least an information desk somewhere. I walked deeper into the back rooms than the building had any right to, moving farther than the outside of the building would indicate possible. I penciled notes as I went, referencing section titles, architecture, and bookcase constructions: Emotion section lining early 20th century staircase with shelving (distressed wood of varying shades) recessed into walls, or Geography in hall (cobblestone floor and antique mining style light fixtures) with shelves of metal in onside and cur into the stone wall on the other (like medieval crypts), and so on. I was hoping that at least two of the three references would remain the same for a return journey, as I had no reason to expect that anything was in fact stationary. I saw no evidence of shelves or sections moving, but just because I did not experience it did not make it impossible and fairy tales and myths often did have such things.

After last night's revelations, I had many and more things I wanted to try and research in the rare and fantastic books that surrounded me. I resisted the urges to just start pulling books and reading any time a title seemed related to one of my new interests. I had enough experience from my college days to know it was best to stay focused on the topic for which I came in. Even dedicating my search to redcaps was likely to lead me down other tangents, so best not to leave that path before actually starting down it.

I saw the occasional member browsing the stacks or reading off to the sides. I did make an attempt to ask one of them for assistance. Standing at one of the many shelves of the Law section, was a tall cobalt blue man. He had a pair of long, straight, ibex-like, ebony horns growing from his forehead.

I approached him cautiously, but without sneaking, and said, "Hello."

The devilish man turned his head to look at me. His half lidded eyes panned me up and down a couple of times, slowly, before he replied, "Hello, yourself, pretty."

His languid tone could have taught Mae West and Marylyn Monroe a thing or two. I was instantly on guard. I had never had anyone address me so wantonly, so I was on unfamiliar ground. However, I could tell the man was acting predatory and I did not want to inadvertently encourage him.

"Uh," I tried to remember why I spoke in the first place, "I'm new here…"

The man smiled, showing extra long canines in a mouth with many pointy teeth. "Yes, you most certainly are, aren't you?" He did not purr, purrs are not able to go as low in the register as the noise he made.

I automatically took a half step back. I was worried that just leaving would either be too socially rude, or it would provoke him to chase me. I tried to stay on task, "Uh, yeah, okay…Anyway, I was wondering if you could give me directions…"

The guy's smile widened, he closed the book he had been reading, turned to face me, and held the book in both hands in front of his crotch. His eyes danced over me again, as he cut me off to say, "Certainly, turn around—slowly, so I can get a _really_ good look at you." He made the too-deep-to-be-a-purr sound again.

I was not prepared to cope with such additional complications as that person's innuendos. I said, "never mind," and backed around a corner before turning to leave. I did not mind that he had been male, generally any attention flattering, but I was not interested in returning such advances, From there I avoided disturbing anyone else, until I found someone that clearly worked for Sheaves and Leaves.

Eventually I came upon a fastidiously dressed man, standing next to a cart full of books to be re-shelved. His dark hair was pulled into a small ponytail and his Vandyke was sharply trimmed. I caught glimpses of black, runic, tattoos at his wrists as he struggled with a grey lady. She was sitting in a chair. She was pretty and seemed not much older than me and she seemed glum—so much so that just looking at her dampened my spirits a little. Her almost uniform grey coloration (hair, skin, dress) was augmented by rolling beads of moisture (even on her clothes), as if she was in her own private black and white rainstorm. The two of them struggled over a book, each gripping two opposing corners. It resolved in the man's favor.

The woman remained in the chair looking forlorn. She made no move to go and did not seem to register that I had witnessed the struggle.

The man produced a towel from a compartment on the cart, started wiping his prize, and pushing the cart with his hips. He muttered something angrily about "…warned her." and "salt water".

I caught up to him in short order. As I got his attention, I noted a silver, spider web pin on his vest were a name tag might go. In the center of the pin was a stylized teacup on an open book.

"Hi I'm Tommy," I introduced myself, "or Tom." I kept my hands clasped in front of me at waist height.

He looked me over disapprovingly. "And?" His voice matched his look.

"_And_ nameless worker," I tried to sound jovial through my mild annoyance, "I am looking for books about redcaps. Can you direct me to such things?"

"My name is Alistair." He still seemed snooty, but less indignant. "Redcaps will be filed in the ogre section." He made a flick with his right hand that could have been directional as easily as it could have been dismissive.

"Okay. I am new to all this… " I started to gesture, then corrected myself. "Ah, not books, I am very familiar with books. By this, I meant… well, all the rest of it." I attempted to smile reassuringly, but I'm not sure if it came out more maniacal.

Alistair, ali-stared at me.

"So, uh, yeah." I verbally marched on, as we both physically continued walking. "I have been a member here for only a few days and have not yet had the opportunity to familiarize myself with the extensive layout. Perhaps you could give me detailed directions to the ogre section."

Alistair now looked annoyed in that store clerk sort of way—the one that says _I cannot believe I am being asked to do my job_. Aloud he said, "You will have to follow me. There is no way _you_ could find it alone."

I followed, ignoring the way he emphasized 'you'. First we made a stop at his desk, for him to leave the cart. The desk top was pristinely clean. The desk set was set to perfect ninety degree angles and spaced out with matching distances. I found the order both reassuring and amusing. From there Alistair walked briskly. I was ready for that ploy and kept pace, happy enough to not be wondering aisles. We went briskly down a hall, through a room, down two flights, up one, down again, more rooms and halls in between—the architecture changing radically in places.

As we walked I ventured to chat, partially to slow Alistair down a bit, "I noticed you had a bit of a tug-of-war with a lady back there."

"Hmph," his highly refined indignation also kept an easy pace, "I hardly consider her a lady: soaking the covers, warping the pages…."

"But she _is_ a member isn't she? She has the same rights to the books, right?" I could tell he felt my phrasing a bit accusatory. I tried to amend, "I mean, it's not her fault she's like she is, right?"

"Ha," Alistair said mirthlessly, "there is nothing keeping her from bringing a towel either, is there?"

I conceded his point. He was mildly surprised, as if unused to people agreeing with him—at least not so readily. For my part, I did think he was technically correct, but I also did not particularly care about his interaction with the girl. Additionally, he was assisting me, so I would probably have agreed with whatever he said to insure he continued to help.

By and by, we came to the Ogre section. It was in a stone room that looked to be part of a medieval tower. Narrow window slits and all. There was a marble statue of a man in the corner near the shelves I was directed to. These particular shelves appeared to be made of various bone, lashed together with hide. There was also a small roll top desk and matching chair in the room, for members. Glass bowled, gas lamps (shaped like marching elephants) helped the feeble daylight that drifted in through arrow-slit style windows.

Alistair indicated the bookcase, "I do not want to find any of the books burned or charred."

I blinked in surprise, "Um, okay." I guessed at his meaning. "I'll make sure to be careful of where the light fixtures are."

He looked like he thought I was trying to make a joke and that he did not think it was funny. He thrust his palm towards my face and waved it around my head, like he was testing the heat of a candle flame. Grudgingly satisfied he retracted his hand. "Well.. I suppose it will be alright."

I thanked Alistair. He clicked his heels and bent at the waist towards me. Not a bow, just something to look like he knew what a bow was and he was not going to bow to me. I did my best to mirror his gesture, knowing full well my hiking boots would not click. His eyes almost smiled, he left. I just found his affectations very amusing; I could not help but to parody it. Doing so felt so silly, I couldn't stop. I turned to the bookcase and drew out my pencil and note pad, repeating the stiff-legged click and bow-like gesture several times.

The first thing I did was record landmarks I had been keeping track of since Alistair's desk. My ploy to slow him down had worked enough for me to take notes of most of the trip. I was not sure I could have gotten back on my own with less. As I put my pad away, I noticed movement to my right.

The marble statue in the corner was not as much a statue of a man reading a book as I had thought. He had turned his head from his, not at all marble book, to watch me play my "pretend to be Alistair" game. His stony gaze considered me with mild curiosity. I turned ninety degrees to face him and did the click-bend one last time. He smiled, nodded, and returned to his reading.

I found what looked like it might be a promising book and took it to the desk to scan through. I repeated this several times. By the time Gavin showed up, I had about a dozen books out with a couple open at a time for cross referencing.

I had over heard Alistair at the bottom of the spiral, stone stairs that led to up to the Ogre room. "He is up there." Then something indistinct, as whoever Alistair had spoken to, responded to the clerk's departing back. I could not see it, but I could just tell from the sound quality of Alistair's receding steps what had happened.

Gavin turned out to be the individual Alistair had led. "Tom." He said by way of greeting. In that slightly drawn out tone that suggested he wanted to have words with a person. His chunky arms were at his side and his massive orangy hands were flexing in and out of boulder-fists.

Statue-man had departed at some point, so Gavin and I were alone in this little, distant room. "Hey, Gavin!" I remained seated and faced the bid ex-firefighter, I put forth some cheerful energy to deflect his tension, "Was that Alistair I heard you with?"

"The anal guy with the goatee?"

I nodded. I would not have called Alistair anal… at least not within Areadne's—there was no way to tell who might hear what. I did not mention that to Gavin though, I was more interested in figuring out why he seemed to be in a grim mood—specifically, if I was the reason.

"Yeah, I was looking for you and he eventually agreed to show me the way." As the conversation continued along a neutral tangent to whatever Gavin's intent had been, he seemed to lose steam and focus and stopped clenching his mighty fists.

"Cool." I replied quick to keep this particular conversational momentum going, "Well, try the bone bookcase." I gestured to the shelves. "I think I have the key stuff here," I turned back to my reading, "but you might see something I missed." I was playing a hunch. Gavin seemed to be the kind of guy that once he's set on a course of action—like chewing you out for something—it is hard to distract him. However, if he has not wholly committed to a train of thought, then it is fairly easy to…. Well, if not successfully derail him, at least switch the tracks. The fact that the bookcase was made of bone was just weird enough, that he had to inspect it right away. As he did he noticed a thin book that he had to browse.

I had been watching him from the corner of my eye. Once he seemed fairly into the book, I made sure to speak in a casual chit-chat manner, so as not to distract him enough to remember his annoyance. "I found some good stuff on the redcaps. Do you know if any of the others had found anything?" I wanted to ask about what he found in the Dark section, but decided to get him thinking about the others instead. Since I put him in the Dark and that was the last we had seen each other, I was guessing something about that was why he had used his I'm-not-happy-with-you voice.

"Oh yeah," he looked up with some recollection twinkle in his grey eyes. "Tegan wanted everyone to come to the garden. It sounded sort of urgent."

I started closing and stacking the books I had brought to the desk. "Well then let's go. I was pretty much done here, anyway." I had wanted to petulantly say _Why didn't you say so?_ but thought that might have reminded him of whatever had given him his earlier tone. The big brick-man was back to a more amiable attitude, apparently not able to think past the book he found and remembering the pretty petal lady's message.

I left the books I had been studying on the little desk. I made sure to stack them as neat and square as possible, for Alistair's pleasure. No two were facing the same way, which was a little something for myself as it amused me that the placement would exasperate Alistair. I also saw the title on the book Gavin had been reading "A New Stoneskin's Guide to Polishing"

Owing in part to my lightened feeling, I pulled out my notes and led Gavin back as swiftly as I could. The other reason was to get back to others before he remembered whatever it was that caused his irritated tone. It half worked.

As we were reaching the area that led to the garden, Gavin had started with "Oh yeah, you and I need to ta…" when we met up with Wade, Tallwind, and Sol. They were lurking in the shadows near the French doors to the garden. Wade said that Tegan had required us to meet outside, while she got the others. That delayed Gavin, but he had already started rolling. So, as we found a quiet place in the shade of a birch to congregate, Gavin physically loomed over me and metaphorically pushed ahead. "Tom, I wanna talk to you about Darkness."

"Did you find something we could use?!" I tried again for the enthusiasm dodge. The other's seemed interested and I hoped that would help my ploy.

"No." the weightlifter's voice was grave as he tried to keep his composure and was talking to me like I might be slow. "No, I didn't. It's kinda impossible to see anything in a room with no light."

"I didn't have any trouble seeing." The sickly looking Sol chimed in cheerfully, from were she sat back against the tree trunk. I was happy for the assist.

"Yes, well," Gavin turned to the pallid girl, "If you hadn't found me when you did, I'd still be stuck there."

"Come on G... Hank," I chided him at the last moment, "the room was barely a closet, you could have felt around for the doorknob." I looked to Sol to back me up.

The grey and white lady nodded.

Wade and Tallwind were staying out of Gavin's eye line and suppressing there laughter at his expense.

"Well," Gavin continued, but seemed to be loosing steam, "in pitch blackness, there wasn't a way to tell."

"I didn't know it was gonna be that dark, dude." I tried to match his sort of frat guy tone as I almost apologized—I thought it was too funny to actually be sorry. "When I was there the other day, there was a dim bulb in the ceiling." Even as I said it, I realized that was probably wrong. I glow, I did not know it then, but my mystical luminance must have been the dim light in what had to be magical darkness.

Of course, my realization was not going to change my positions with Gavin. Now that I knew he was not going to take a swing at me over it, it was something to fun with which to tease him. Sol seemed to feel the same and the others enjoyed the show, until Tegan and the rest arrived.

Before then I did have time to consider Sol, again. Hand-mouths and pale, pale skin. The tattoos on her back, which to my mind seemed a particularly proprietary sort of thing, like being a labeled product or branded cattle—that felt to me as if she must have needed to be controlled or dominated by her Master, more so than what happened to the rest of us. Plus, she had not complained, but every time she was in daylight she looked ill and weak. And now she claimed to see in the Dark section without effort (or any form of luminescence like I had). Plus, Sol was freely taunting one of our biggest companions. I may tease for fun or from boredom, but the black eted lady's jibes seemed more like challenges. Sol did give me the chills and that was not solely from her Autumnal nature. She had embraced an inner darkness that she tried to hold tight around our group, but I sensed it peeking through her grasp. I definitely considered her dangerous… like a landmine, you can not be sure which step will set her off, but you know if you hit that trigger it will be bad.

Tegan had sashayed over with Rai, Runner, and Russel. I used to think one would need a dress on to sashay, but the red head of our party proved it was all in the hips and posture—not that I think she was conscious of her effect at the time. They quickly recapped that they had headed back to the house to pick up weapons (crowbars, hatchets, and the like).

The gang was all there, then. At least I really felt like we were a gang then more than ever. Tegan paced before us like a drill sergeant and explained, "I came out here earlier and… well, the point is I went a short way into the Hedge." Her sparkling green eyes were set with purpose and glance to the tree line to verify where she meant. "When I was there I encounter a root and through the root I heard a tree begging for help."

There were so many things that seemed dangerously wrong with that statement, my mind reeled. She went into the Hedge? Where the hounds live, where we were explicitly told far worse things hunt? And what happened to researching redcaps? Did she expect that someone had left bark carvings to tell of the weaknesses of fae enemies? The tree asked… no, begged for help? Is there a more classic trap? Sound innocent and frail, then when the would-be-do-gooder offers their hand to help, clamp down hard and drag them in. And how is a plant talking to her anyway?

While I endeavored to compose my thoughts, the others where asking variants on most of my questions. Mostly the auburn haired military trainee did not have answers. Tegan was simply adamant that there was a talking tree that needed our help. The whole group did not seem as distraught as I felt they should. Nor did any of them seem to care—at all—about the redcaps any more.

When they decided to trek off to size up the mystery tree's peril, I had to go along. As bad an idea as I thought it was, I was not going to let any of them die without getting the chance to say "I told you so."

Tegan and Rai moved through the Hedge with confidence. Tegan tripped lightly, Rai prowled. Tegan looked as if she were not even aware of how gracefully she was stepping around roots and rocks. As for Rai, I saw for the first time the sinewy power that lurked below his normally placid postures. The man had had an engineers build before our change—too many hours at a drafting screen, Doritos, and video games—after the change his basic physique had not seemed altered, until I saw him moving with purpose through the mystical woods. Rai had muscles that looked like coiled steel, when he was not sitting around a furniture-free house.

The rest of us stayed close together. I kept asking for reassurances that someone knew the way back. We had seen moving bushes in Areadne's garden. We had no reason to believe landmarks would be reliable. The huge feline and the petite feminine guide always said they knew the way, they were a little confused that we did not. When pressed for directions one of the leaders would say something like "Twice around then a nod." or "It's half a roll and a hop." Plus, Tegan and Rai always agreed with each other's assessment, even though they never seemed to discus it away from the rest of us.

The forest became twilight dark fairly quick. Ginormous old growth trees canopied far overhead. Underbrush, of various kinds, threatened to block our way, but our guides always found a passage with minimal obstruction. I tried to keep my glow bright, to help as much as possible. The temperature never faltered from a comfortable fall mid 60s. Sounds either seemed eerily absent or creepily distorted: birds that sounded vaguely mechanical, breeze rustles that sounded like a bear crashing through, unnatural whistles and gurgles.

At one point we were spotted by a flock of birds. I cannot say that I knew them, but I just felt in my bones that I knew the situation. They would seem innocuous and indifferent, we would stop thinking of them as a threat, then wham, we would be swarmed. The sense was made worse by the avian's appearances. I know there is a type of normal-world bird that is similar—a kind of parrot, I think—colorful plumage and big beaks. Beaks shaped like shovels turned sideways, or hatchets. These fae cousins definitively fell into the hatchet category—I swear I saw light glint of the "blades" of a few.

As we passed their roosts, they spoke—at least some did, never all at once, never in perfect unison, always like they might be talking to themselves, or echoing. "Hello, hello." They croaked as only birds can.

"Do not engage them." I told my companions. They tried asking why and other foolishness, "Just don't." I watched the ground where I walked and only tracked the birds with my peripheral vision.

"Hello?" the fowl tried again, feathers and leaves rustled, "Food? Food?"

"No." I spoke emphatically, matching the animal's volume. "Go away." I kept walking without looking at the birds and trying get the others to follow my lead.

The birds rustled in the branches. "Food?" Corn?"

"No." I replied.

My companions were starting to straggle, finding the verbal exchange charming.

"Corn? Corn?" they persisted. "Ham sandwich? Ham?"

And there it was, the moment my fellow travelers clued in. I could feel them tense up when the birds started asking for non-bird-ish things. They quickened their pace.

"Sandwich? Roast beef? Roast?" Rustle, squawk.

We were as far past the birds as we had been on our approach, when they had taken notice of us. I guessed that they would follow us, unless they were distracted. If it worked we would be out of their range of interest by the time they distraction was over. While I did not think they were ordinary birds, I did not imagine they were terribly bright either. At least I hoped they were not.

"Hey, over there." I looked at the flock and mimed a throw, as if I pitched something away from our direction, "cake!"

"Cake! Cake!" they chorused and about half the flock flew in the direction I had pretended to thrown. The rest did not seem interested enough to follow fake cake or real us.

By and by—which is probably an accurate direction, when walking in the Between—we came to a clearing. Tegan had said we were close and bent down to touch a root. After a moment, she stood and told us that she had just spoken to the tree again. And that the tree had said "We must hurry, he's poison." _Better and better_, I thought.

We crept upon the scene. In a roughly circular clearing, approximately half a football field wide, stood an oak tree. The oak was at least a dozen feet wide at its base and five stories tall. It had architecture in its branches—not a tree fort, rather parts of walls and roofing intermingled with the leaves and branches. Some of the structures looked more grown than made. There was a plank ladder/walkway/stairs that spiraled up around the trunk. All the 'constructed' elements seemed a bit worn down and rickety. At waist height, there was a jagged, black metal chain. The chain was not very thick and looked to be poorly constructed, it also seemed to be biting or digging into the trunk—like the elastic of too small underwear on a person's skin.

Standing under the tree, his head almost brushing the lowest branches was—again I drew on the closest thing I recalled from my Lit class—a manticore. As I remembered them, manticore were man-headed lions with scorpion tails and bat wings. What we saw was a giant biped. He had leonine legs and head, the mouth was more manlike though, a muscular torso and arms of a man, and a scorpion-like tail as long as his arms. No wings, but he did grip a massive battle axe in one clawed hand. The weapon was almost as big as me and probably heavier. Also, I was certain it was a he, as his leather loincloth was barely adequate.

As we quietly deliberated what to do and how to do it, the form of a mostly nude woman partially emerged from the tree. The tree remained solid, yet she came forth at a run, as if she were passing through a sheet of water. She looked like she should be pretty, but she had not eaten or slept in a long time. She wore twine or vines and twigs in what were meant to be strategic placements, but were not nearly enough material. Her skin was brown as the oak's bark, but ashen. As she tried to flee the tree, the chain around it caught her in the stomach. She blanched and fell back, disappearing again into the tree trunk.

That got us moving. A tree was a hard idea to save. A woman, a changeling like us, held by a crude monster, that was easy to rally around. Although in truth, the dryad may not ever have been mortal. She may have been born in The Place Between Worlds. And the manticore was as likely to be a Spirit Touched. Either way, we identified with her plight.

Our ladies split off stealthily. In the gloamy dark woods Sol moved with the health she normally only displayed at night; she veritably melded with the shadows. Tegan clearly tapped into her ROTC field training and practically spider-climbed into the trees around the clearing. The ninja women would come at the tree from angles that the manticore could not see.

The rest of the gang would distract the beast-man, while the girls released the chain and got the tree-girl away. I would follow behind the distraction team, applying wyrd and casting glamours of fortune—to foul our foe's efforts, aid our own, and help with the chain if I could.

Gavin and Wade stepped into the clearing, the rest were close behind. The manticore saw us, stepped into positioned to face us, grinned gruesomely, lazily reached out it's unencumbered hand, and raked it's claws through the bark of the tree. As curls of wood fell from the tips of the manticore's nails, we heard a feminine groan of agony from the branches of the oak.

Then it was on.

The manticore had an army of apparently normal scorpions, ringing the ground around the oak. Somehow the manticore could communicate to them and the arachnids obeyed him, he directed them all towards us. Thus, clearing the far side of the oak for Tegan and Sol. My larger comrades slowed their advance and considered the scorpions threat potential. With my hiking boots I was not overly concerned about the small pinchy, stinging critters. I stomped in and watched out for any that might pounce higher up my leg. Thus, bolstered, my allies charged the axe wielding enemy.

The skirmish lasted hardly anytime at all—I am not sure even a whole minute could have lapsed. Gavin and Rai had wrestled the manticore to the ground, while Wade and Tallwind ringed around with jabs. I did not see where Runner or Russel were.

Meanwhile, Tegan of the Leaves had made it into the oak's branches and dropped a crowbar to spooky Sol at the tree's base. I had scoffed at the purchases of crowbars and hatchets and the like that Tallwind and the other's had made, luckily my scoffing had been internal so my grudging respect need not be public either.

Sol of the Shadows had made it to the tree's trunk, unseen on the far side from our enemy, and used the crowbar to pop the chain. I had moved to stealthy blond woman by then and we conspired to take up either end of the chain and wrap the manticore in it. Touching the iron chain hurt, like a sunburn or rash—it caused both our hands to redden, but we soldiered on.

By the time Sol and I charged the manticore, he had gotten free of our allies and was bounding away, axe in hand. He was too fast to catch, disappearing from sight and sound into the thick forest in seconds. The scorpions disbursed almost as quickly, but without the unified movements that they had displayed earlier.

The pale lady and I dropped the chain, I warned the others pointing to the black metal with my right hand and showing them the palm of my left, "Hey, guys! That thing is not safe. I don't think there is permanent damage, but this is real unpleasant."

Wade barely looked at the crude chain and said, "Cold iron. Obviously bent and hammered into place by crude force with little or no heating at all."

"Definitely." Tallwind agreed, crouching over the chain with greater interest, "Cold iron is naturally occurring iron. It can be heated to red hot and shaped—like old horse shoes—and still be considered cold iron. Beaten into shape like this takes a lot of force and can only result in small pieces—like the links—because it is so brittle. Higher temp forging just makes it normal iron… Cold iron is also quite rare, only being found in certain peat bogs and meteorites."

Gavin and I helped carefully scoop the chain into Tallwind's backpack, while he lectured.

While we were doing this, Tegan tended to the lady of the oak. The dryad had appeared in the branches with Tegan. Her midriff looked like it had a chemical burn, like she had been wearing a belt of bleach for a while.

Tegan, embraced and kissed the larger and effectively naked girl square on the mouth. Which was pretty hot, but seemed odd for Tegan. I wondered if the dryad had caused it, based on the stories I remembered. Their embrace only lasted a second or two. Then the dryad was better. Magically healed, no scar, looking vibrant and vivacious. Lush, bright foliage grew from the vines and twigs the girl wore, covering her too effectively in what amounted to a tube top and short skirt. Her skin had gone from the color of ashen bark, to a smooth, paler color of polished oak lumber, complete with wood grain.

The tree lady led Tegan by the hand to ground level, additional plank-steps appearing from the tree as they descended in a spiral around the trunk. For about the kajillionth time, I reminded myself I was not dreaming. This was my new life. And with perky, nearly naked girls, it was not all terrifying.

She introduced herself as Amaryllis, but said we could call her Amy. We introduced ourselves with the common abbreviations of our true names. In my case I thought of Tommy as being from my pseudonym. I believed the True Names were dangerous, but since no one else seemed concerned, nor had they shared their last prophetic dreams, I was keeping mine to myself as well.

Amy stood somewhere between 5'9" and 6'0", she kept moving and usually on the balls of her feet. In spite of her wooden nature, the dryad seemed athletically muscled and built like an all around Olympian—legs for running, shoulders and arms for archery, torso for wrestling (in more ways than one), and so on. The dryad's hair was a luxuriant mass of maple red with vibrant patches of deep orange and golden yellow and chocolaty highlights in waves and curls that cascaded over her shoulders and behind her, down to the slope of lower back.

The woodland spirit was thanking us profusely. "And you will stay won't you?!" Amy sounded excited and a little desperate.

We were generally uncertain. I ventured, "Um, Amy, it's nice here, but we need to be able to go places."

"Oh," Amy said, "you can come and go. I could just be your hollow." Her tone was positive, like a cheerleader on duty.

"Our holler?" asked Wade and Gavin together

"Hollow," the effervescent dryad annunciated, "your motley's safe place."

"Motley?" it was Tegan's turn, she had disengaged from Amy's hand hold and stepped a few paces back as soon as the tree girl started her thank yous.

Amy rolled her eyes of pale yellow and rich red-brown lacquered wood, "Yes, you are a group together? Sharing skills and resources, right?"

We glance checked with each other and had to shrug-nod agree.

"Then," Amy concluded, her hands on her shapely hips, "collectively, you are a motley."

"Uh," Runner asked in his low grumbly voice, apparently back from whatever call of nature had kept him from attacking the manticore, "What rrr about food? Irrm It's kind urf hard to errmph get to the rrr grocery storererer from hererrr."

"Yeah," I added eyeing the structures in the branches, "and space? It does not look like you have enough room for all of us to stay."

Amy sighed the sigh of people talking to the dim and the leaves of her outfit rustled enticingly, "That doesn't matter, sillies. To make me your hollow you will all agree on what is desired. Then we shall make it so." She smiled, like it was obvious and easy and something everyone did all the time.

It would be a rent free space, food included, safe from redcaps, and walking distance to Sheaves and Leaves, although it was in the Hedge, with manticores and who knows what else. But Amy did assure us we could improve the defenses, which in part would make it harder for beings not of our motley to find. Also, Amy was clearly scared that if we left the manticore, or worse, would claim her instead. We had to agree.

Amy positioned us, evenly around her oak's trunk. We touched the oak with our palms. Amy melded into the tree. We were all connected on a partially mental, mostly urge/desire level. Amaryllis's presence guided us, offering a sense of what we may do and what was not possible. We would each have to give a part of ourselves to the Hollow, to reshape and stock it. What we gave was clear at the time and was well worth what we would receive. I cannot describe what was given now though, I do not have the language for it. Although, I do know it came in part from the same place as the twinge sensation I got when making deals with others and this was the deepest and most profound version of the feeling so far.

As we consented and concentrated, the oak changed—It grew sturdier and healthier. More architecture appeared to ripen into being. All sense of ricketiness was lost. Windows gained shutters. The retractable spiral walkway, around the trunk, grew a guardrail. Inside there would be a personal room for each of us, as well as a common room, stocked kitchen, lavatories, and hot tub. No electricity, but Amy could regulate the temperature in any room. We all took a step back and admired our work for a moment.

I whooped and sped up the spiral walkway. I went straight to the top most room, practically a solarium. I placed little things from my pockets around the room, on the bed, the desk, in the wardrobe. I sat in the desk chair and twirled. In short order, I concluded I needed more things to fill the spaces. Which only inspired me to get them, rather than depressing me from their lack.

The mingling of minds or spirits or whatever faded swiftly from articulate memory. Trying to recall specifically what one of the others had felt or thought was like smelling a scent from childhood, familiar but impossible to name. Although, I did come away with a deeper respect for the gorgeous dryad than I had started with. Thus, I resolved to keep my base urges to myself.

If Amy ever seemed to reciprocate a more carnal feeling, then all the better for me. However, she was my new home and I would much rather earn her mutual respect.

The late lunch at (in?) Amy's was great: vegetarian, but completely free of any chemicals. Plus, Amy really made dishes, not just salads. She did assure us that this was a first time, short notice sort of deal. She said that depending on season and with enough time other fare could be provided.

Sadly, most of us could not stay the night, there were redcaps with which to deal. Certainly, there was a discussion, Wade prompted it. "So, what are we? I mean, like what does it mean to be whatever we are now?"

After we each tried to answer Wade, it became clear that he was just then really starting to accept we had become changelings and trying to define what that meant for him and us. The broad topic became morals, Wade voiced the more focused concern, such as, "Why should we do anything about the redcaps? After all, they're changelings like us, right? Should we not have more loyalty to them than the unchanged?"

"Plus," Runner pointed out from the depths of a comfy chair, his voice even more grumbly and sleepy than usual, "we urr have rrurr Amy rrr now, urmgh so no rrerr need to rmph worrrry about ourrrr home orrm rrretribution."

The swordsman made some good points, I agreed with him about most of the bigger picture issues. "We are not normal people anymore and we have abilities that the normal worldly authorities cannot possibly patrol. However, we don't truly belong to any other world either." I scanned the faces around me for emphasis. "The existence of Ariadne's makes it clear that there is a loose collection of changelings that live in the Inbetween places, forging a world for themselves. We might be able to join them…" I shrugged. "I guess my point is, we obey the rules of wherever we are—be it mortal society or other—to the extent that we want to be part of that place or group. Otherwise, we are our own people now and have to do what we can for ourselves."

"As for the more specific redcap issue," my voice hardened as I clenched my fists, "I paid for the use of that rental house and I am not going to let them bully me away."

Gavin felt more of a sense of civic duty, saying, "Plus, if the normal police can't deal with them it is even more our responsibility to help the innocent people of the neighborhood. I don't care if they are fae or not, they don't deserve to be terrorized by the redcaps."

"It's just not right," Tegan agreed with Gavin, a fighting spark lighting her emerald eyes "that they get away with hurting anyone or destroying property."

Neither Wade, nor I, bothered pointing out all the minor laws we had all bent or broken over the last week. It was clear Tegan and Gavin believed the redcaps transgressions were of a higher order of magnitude. I think Tallwind just liked the idea of doing some damage. The others did not say much, but it was clear they would go along with whatever the majority decided.

So, we made a plan and seven of us departed the oak. Russel and Runner stayed behind, partially because they did not care much about the redcaps, but mostly because Amy panicked at the idea that she would be alone.

We split up for the afternoon for final preparations. I visited the Fu liqueur store to try and get more information and build some goodwill. I gave Mrs. Fu a simple gold necklace; I tried hard to not think of it as a collar. She was more cordial than before and she did offer some answers regarding redcaps, however, it only corroborated what we had learned at Sheaves and Leaves.

Redcaps are violent and cannibalistic. They tend to cluster in gangs, but will turn on their own at signs of weakness. Each redcap keeps their hat wet with fresh blood, always. They drink a lot. They are generally ogres in the way that a Lumor is a type of fairest—all ogres have a brutality and toughness to their natures. There are some speculations that redcaps are weakened by the loss, or drying, of their hat.

That evening, Tegan and Wade chose to stay at the rental house as guards. In case the 'caps hit our place before heading to theirs.

That left creepy Sol, rocky Gavin, predatory Rai, scarred Tallwind and my luminous self to go to the 'caps house and wait in ambush. We figured they would be least prepared when they returned from drinking and were not quite out of their car. Instead, while the rest of us found nearby concealment from which to spring, Tallwind went into the 'cap's house. He came out fifteen or twenty minutes later, just as the kitchen started to burn.

The four of us that definitely did not start the fire did what we could to keep the flames from spreading to neighboring houses—Including waking the neighbors, telling them to call 911, and using their hoses to dampen the area. Tallwind made some show of doing the same, but his burn-scar stiffened leg seemed to act up more than usual and his limp really slowed him down.

It was oddly thrilling: the fire was attractive and alarming as any bonfire, yet forbidden in it's arsonous nature, satisfying for it's destruction of enemy property, and frightening for it's potential to spread. Plus, it sent the sickly enticing smell of cooking meat wafting through the whole area. I was most concerned with getting the redcaps out of my group's hair, but I did like the idea of helping the neighborhood in general, so letting the fire run unchecked was not cool, hence the effort to protect the neighbors. We left when the fire trucks arrived—no need to risk being identified or questioned.

Our own fireman had been furious the whole time. If I could have harvested the anger from another changeling, I might never have lacked for glamour again. Gavin held Tallwind responsible for endangering the whole block. Wrinkle-man chose not to return to any of our regular haunts for a while. The rest of us felt that this might get the 'caps to leave the area, or come after us more directly. Some of us only regretted that none of the redcaps seemed to have been at home.

We still slept in shifts that night, just in case.


	9. Chapter 9

Day 9, November 16th

Puffy fluffy wuffy,

Hazy fazy way…

Slept well enough and rested most of the day. I continue to be pleased with myself for having purchased the air-mattress and bedding. I made sure to deflate and pack the bed into my Festtiva's hatch every day. I knew that the sound of the motorized air compressor irritated my roommates most nights, but I just could not trust any of the people in the house to decide it was okay to simply use my stuff—and probably mess it up. Plus, if I had to flee town for some reason, it would most likely be in my Festiva and I wanted as many of my worldly possessions with me as possible.

On the other hand we had Amy and the oak tree and I wondered how that would effect my preparedness. I believed our group had invested a great deal of intent into making the Hollow—as Amy called it—reliably defensible. So, I probably had a secure place to leave my things, including a private room. However, the oak was in the Hedge and getting to and from it may be problematic.

Meanwhile, my inflatable bed and five inch TV/radio were the only things resembling furniture in our rental home. I would buy more, except that in the dorms I had learned quick that other people will use whatever is around, but only care about how they treat the items they owned. I did not care about the TV/radio, so I was happy to leave it in the living room and one or the other of my commune would always have some damn noise pouring out of it. I never received any useful information from talk radio or commercials and the music stations would barely play two songs before dumping to ten minutes of ads.

So, when I mentioned relaxing for the morning, I spent a good portion of my alone time just sitting in my little black Festiva, as well as checking under the hood to see if there were any little tweaks I could do with Rai's tools. Now that the engineer had got his Suzuki going, he left the tools out and I had full access to our garage. Of course, my once upon a time friend jack Schmidt had indeed sold me a quality used car, so there really wasn't anything to tweak.

At one point in the morning, Gavin had walked over to the scene of the arson (his word) and reported back to whoever he could find. "The house is totaled, he announced. "It only looks a little charred from outside, but I could tell it was a shell. The tree out front had caught and a fair portion of the lawn."

A few of us had been caught in the living room. Sol was sleeping in the closet, for maximum darkness, of the room she shared with Tegan. We assumed that Runner and Russel were still with Amy. Tallwind still had not returned to risk Gavin's wrath. So, Wade, Tegan, and I listened to Gavin's report.

Rai was sitting with his back wedged into a corner and his mighty arms crossed over his chest. His cat eyes were half open, but I was not convinced the man was awake. Also, Rai made no response or contribution to the conversation, so I do not believe he was listening.

"If we hadn't hosed down the neighboring houses, they would definitely have gone up." The rocky weightlifter was seething again as he stood with his fists on his hips, blocking the little entry way alcove for the front door.

"I talked to some neighborhood kids. They said the jerks who lived at the house showed up about ten minutes after the fire trucks. Apparently, they poured out of their crappy Chevy and started attacking people—at least two firemen and a neighbor lady were hurt. The kids thought that one of the jerks was subdued, but the rest scattered and got away."

When the four of us got to discussing it, we agreed that at least now the police would have to take some action. The assaults, plus the dog carcasses in the garage, and any evidence that was left after the fire, it all had to provoke some action from the normal authorities. Hopefully it would be enough to drive the 'caps away from Athens. I doubted we had seen the last of the bloody bullyboys, but guessed that as long as we watched our backs we would be okay.

Around 9:30 am I could stand the news radio no longer and I had effectively detailed my Festiva, so I spent the remainder of the grey drizzly morning at Sheaves & Leaves. I knew there was little else I could do regarding the redcaps, so I determined to at least corroborate some of the information I had learned in my dreams.

At the front desk Philomena greeting me by name and with a smile as I entered and I returned the compliment. As soon as I passed by, I regretted not having generated some pretense to chat.

In the stacks of rare books, I scanned for any titles that might reveal information regarding wyrd, glamours, bindings to seasons or concepts, identifiers for the types of changelings, or anything else that seemed relevant to my new life. Needless to say these are all prolific subjects that appear in sprinkle throughout most of the rare books collection. Rather than allowing myself to delve deep into a particular subject and any tangents it may lead to, I instead followed the skim as much as possible method and makes notes to be able to find more interesting works again later. So, the information I came away with was not thorough, but it did give me a greater sense of general understanding.

Top of my list was that I now had a basic grasp of Wyrd, wyrd, and weird. Capital W Wyrd, or The Wyrd, is an all pervasive thing. Some changelings and most Gentry treat The Wyrd with a sort of religious reverence or attitude—this seems to be from where wiccans and similar derived many of their concepts of Gaea the Earth Mother Goddess. Most changelings view The Wyrd more of a natural occurrence, like gravity or electromagnetism. However, The Wyrd is entwined with everything on a metaphysical and psychic level as well as physical. The Wyrd is what allows glamour and other fae phenomenon to twist the other laws of physics, including making agreements more physically manifest. I still had not quite uncovered what the latter meant.

Lower case W wyrd is more like an energy supply. The Wyrd is like how electromagnetism binds atoms together and how radio waves work, while what I found referred to wyrd as akin to using a refrigerator magnet or turning on a radio. In my limited experience it seemed clear that wyrd was most like a battery. Changelings are able to convert the strong emotions of mortals into wyrd and store it or use it to enact glamours. Precisely why and how we did this seemed to be so ingrained that none of the authors I found were able to articulate the process—it did not even seem to occur to most of the writers.

Weird is what all of this fairytale life was, period. Although, I did find a very long winded dissertation style paper that seemed dedicated to proving that the common us of "weird" in English was derived from The Wyrd, for some grand esoteric goal. Even had I not been skimming, I doubt I would have grasped the argument—mostly do to the basic logical fallacies it seemed to be built upon.

Glamours, or spells, or charms, or enchantments, etcetera, followed strange rules of hierarchy and general groupings. The information I found was often extremely poetical, thus leaving much open to interpretation, or exceptionally dry and mathematical, thus begging for clarification and examples. I did step off the glamour path of research with more of a feeling about what glamours were than an understanding. Basically a glamour is a benefit gained from connection or agreement to some greater Thing. The Thing may be a force, concept, being, or what have you—fire, blood, Summer, a Gentry, Night, are all possible examples. I found no explanations of the nature, method, or purpose of the original compacts, only that some promises result in fae learning the secrets of casting certain glamours. Also that once a deal has been made for one glamour, it is often easier to gain related glamours and there was implication that doing so may be possible via The Wyrd, or a new source—not necessarily the original gift giver.

My dream had reminded me that I had Raised the Iron Spear, thus joining into some sort of agreement with choleric Summer. Again I could sort of feel what that meant, but not adequately explain. Yet, my affiliation with Summer bestowed the methods of several glamours—Summer's Embrace would free me from the effects of extreme temperatures and High Noon allowed me to fill a vast area with bright light. I felt that I had known more glamours of Eternal Summer, but could not yet recall their secrets.

While according to my last prophetic dream, the glamours I knew of Fowl Fortune and Fortune's Favor were gifts from my Master Aeolean. And even though I fled the Gentry's control, the glamours freely given could not be forcibly taken.

Plus, I discovered that a changeling's affiliation with a Season was their Humor and manifested as a Mantle. Not every changeling had committed to a humor, which tended to leave those fae hard pressed to find allies. The Mantle of my humor manifested in my eyes, ever-tan skin, and sun streaked hair, but each changeling's mantle was unique to them and displayed their conviction to their Season's humor. I read one story of a Summer king with animated tattoos that depicted all of his battles. The greater a Spirit Touched's conviction the more prevalent their Mantle.

While each Season granted potential access to certain glamours, I was intrigued to read that, someone of one Mantle could still build enough goodwill to gain access to a portion of another humor's glamours. Thus, I had the potential for all the glamours Summer had to offer and might still learn from Spring or Autumn if I paid the correct respect—If only I could figure out what that meant for my day to day life.

As look back on my notes from this time and write out the experience, I am struck with how much it all seems like rules to an elaborate game. On reflection, I wonder if it is inevitable, as the Shining Ones toy with our lives, so our lives are shaped into the things of toys and games. Is it that The Wyrd bends even the Gentry into pieces on some multi-dimensional board? Probably it is just the attempts of myself and other scholars to make sense of an incomprehensible world—a desire to understand patterns in the chaos.

Rosa smiled warmly with full lips and swarthy eyes, as she served me a delightful sandwich and tea at in the tea room, before I returned to the mundane world.

I was back at the rental ranch house by 3:30. Tegan came in a short while later, the light rain had caused her red hair to darken, clinging to and tracing lined along her forehead, cheeks, and long slender neck. The bedraggled beauty had me collect together whoever else was in the house, while she wet into the bathroom to dry off.

When Gavin, Runner, Wade, Rai, Sol, and myself were assembled in the living room, Tegan explained that she had went to the O'Bleness Memorial and snuck into where the firemen and neighbor lady had been placed after the redcap's assault.

Tegan, auburn hair now toussled and a fresh flannel shirt on and buttoned, but untucked over her jeans, looked like a movie star that had just gotten out of bed in a romantic comedy. She said, "I had to pretend to be a candy-striper to get past the guards. The police have all three victims in one room and a patrolman stationed at the door."

"Didn't he check your credentials?" Wade asked. We were all sitting around the perimeter of the living room floor with our backs to the wall, the haggard and wiry man was directly across from Tegan.

The corners of Tegan's cupie mouth quirked up slightly and she shook her head, churning the currently wild waves of her hair. "After I stood close to him for a second, I did not even need a volunteer's uniform." It took most of my comrades a moment to realize that Tegan was referring to her new found fae ability to effectively mesmerize anyone near her.

"Anyway," Tegan rolled her green jeweled eyes and went on, "the victims were in critical condition, all three of them. So, since no one was watching, I used my Breath of Vitality gift to help them, like I did with Amy."

I did not bother to sidetrack the conversation by pointing out that what Tegan called a gift was her casting a glamour on the people. I could share my research later, assuming their own dreams had not told them as much as mine had.

The blush filled Tegan's cheeks, then heart shaped face, then alabaster neck and shoulders. as Gavin, Wade, and I all made various noises and comments referring to Tegan having to make out with all the patients, as she had with the weakened dryad. My comments at least where meant appreciatively. Runner and Sol only smiled and chuckled. Rai seemed distracted by the rain on the window.

"Nooo," Tegan insisted trying to quell our catcalls, "it was not like that. If fact that is part of why I tried it anyway, I wanted to see if… contact was necessary." She continued speaking quickly to curtail a new round of jeering. "As it turns out, I only have to breathe on the people. So, no contact required, just a couple of inches proximity."

"And then they were healed?" Wade wiped his steal grey eyes with his hatch-work hands and asked seriously. "How did the hospital staff respond?'

Tegan shrugged. "I did not hang around to see the staff's reaction. But the victims were not all better. They did seem to improve, like their bodies were under less stress, but their wounds remained… I think there's more to my gift that I have not sussed out, yet."

Amen to that and so say we all, I commented to myself.

Tallwind returned just before we started preparing dinner. An argument ensued right away. I was working in the kitchen, so only caught the gist of what was said. The discussion never got too heated and mostly centering around the morality issues we had already talked about and with which many of us were still trying to cope.

The aggression was prolonged by Gavin insisting that Tallwind admit to having endangered the neighborhood and promise to not start fires again. I suspect that as a former firefighter, Gavin still empathized with the danger the crew last night had to face. Tallwind steadfastly refused to be responsible for the fire and no one got hurt anyway. Eventually the big orange fellow cooled down enough to storm off into the wet suburban night.

Tallwind was then able to explain. "I went in and the place was filthy: garbage, old liquor and beer bottles, and half eaten meat everywhere. Some of the meat looked like it had never been warmer than body temperature. The fridge was packed full of meat, only meat, and I won't swear that there was no people parts in there." The saggy-skinned man stood near the kitchen door and spoke up so everyone could hear.

"In every bedroom, there was one or two beds, each bed had a bucket next to it. At first I hoped the buckets where full of red paint, but it was blood—bright and fresh. A couple of the pales had ball-caps soaking in them." Tallwind took a deep drink of his water.

I suspected it would be a while before the scar covered ex-PI drank red wine again.

"I felt I should do something, you know to maybe slow the redcaps down or weaken them. So, I took the buckets and dumped them in their kitchen sink." Tallwind's face wrinkled up, even more, in disgust at the memory. "As the blood poured out, it coagulated and darkened—like it had been around for days. Then I left." There was a pause that said, _that's my story and I am sticking to it_. "Maybe whatever negative juju was in that blood started the fire. But I can't be expected to have known."

Once dinner was ready, Sol ate quickly and said she would be at the hospital, then left-presumably for the bus stop. Gavin Returned a short while later. Tallwind quickly finished his meal and went to the room he shared with Runner and Rai, while our stony companion prepared a plate. Since it was clear the two men were going to try avoiding each other for a while, I helped by reminding Gavin that that was our first official night working at Elements. No one joined us for the car ride.

The crowd at the club was good for a Wednesday. As a bonus for me, a couple of drunken frat-guy jocks got in some rage fight over a sports statistic. I drank in their pointless anger like it was the beer that fueled them. I collected my pay, then collected Gavin, and we headed home.

The redcaps had not resurfaced or retaliated, yet the only person present was Tegan. The ravishing redhead was at her least ravishing, suited up for hiking in the cold—at least the rain had stopped.

Tegan huffed out an exaggerated exasperated breath, "Jeez, it's about time you two got back." Shouldered past us at the door to the garage and garbed at our jacket sleeves. "Come on Tommy, you need to drive us to Sheave & leaves."

I almost dropped my rolled up air mattress in the jostling. "What? Why? are they even open?" I did start putting my gear back in my Festiva's hatch, though.

"There's something we want to do back at the oak tree and we need everybody to be present." Was almost all that Tegan would say. When Gavin or I pressed for more information during the car ride, she countered with something like, "It's not bad, so don't worry." Or more often "I can't explain it well, Amy will do it better in the morning."

Gavin seemed to enjoy anticipating the surprise, so did not press very hard for information. I could tell Tegan was tired, dealing with a magical concept that was hard to articulate, and most important being honest. So, I stopped pushing too, halfway through the drive.

I was so tired and Tegan was moving so fast, I did not register much of Ariadne's Sheaves and Leaves after dark. We used a side door to enter, then, then the next thing I knew, Tegan was tromping us through the garden and then the Hedge. I had to focus so hard on not loosing our shapely guide, I did not even have the wherewithal to fret about the increased dangers that must be in the mystical forest by night.

At least we could sleep at the Hollow first and deal with whatever the others wanted in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Day 10, November 17th

Zzzzzzzzz…

My bed at the oak is perfect. I could not imagine having a nightmare in it: even though the mattress seemed thin, it was both supportive and cushiony, suspended by a lattice of ropes and stuffed with downy feathers.

The sunrise streams in and washed the ceiling and far wall in warm rainbows. After the barren rooms of our rental house, my little solarium was especially soothing to see—the desk, desk chair, and wardrobe that the pretty dryad had provided. Of course, I longed to fill the wardrobe and desk and walls with items personal to me, as soon as I own some again.

I had barely opened my eyes and started ruminating, when a well toned wooden woman's arms emerged from my headboard to shake me by my shoulders. Amy's elegant oval face follower her hands a moment later, effectively hovering over my own, upside down to my perspective. She said, "Get up, get up, get up!" with a joyful exuberance of a child on Christmas morning.

The tree spirit's long red and gold mane of hair tumbled in a curly curtain around my ears and over my collar bone. I was engulfed in a cloud of rich aroma—sweet earth and fresh leaves with just the most delicate hints of aged, lightly spiced lumber. The flame colored hair blocked out most of the light, so I could not make out Amy's smooth and strong features, however the tresses were silky soft on my skin. I regretted that my pajama top prevent the perfumed strands from caressing more of my flesh.

Seeing I was indeed awake, the dryad stopped shaking and said, still breathless with excitement, "Everyone else is waiting. You need to get fed and get started."

I tried to ask for a more detailed explanation, but the attractive lady just withdrew back into my headboard—her mane sweeping my face from chin to crown, rustling like leaves, as she went. A moment later Amy's torso appeared from the wall next to my bed looking much like the masthead of an old sailing ship. The dryad's corset of leaves and vines seemed flimsy and to defy certain physical laws—it seemed to be mostly backless… unless it was glued, or taped to her ample bosom, but then where would she get such products? Plus, how could the garment possibly provide enough support to create such compressed cleavage?

"They will tell you while you eat," Amy's smooth resonant voice snapped me back from my reveries. She clapped her hands, the sound of small wooden cups being brought together. "Come on, the sooner you start, the sooner you will finish."

Once the perky tree girl saw I was properly out of bed and had started to collect my clothes together, she faded literally back into the woodwork.

Vegan breakfast was great. The ingredients all tasted right and Amy's cooking is top notch. Although, Gavin and I were barraged with the news, rather than being allowed to enjoy our meals.

I did get to place a request, with Amy, for eggs at least three times a week. Amy had told us earlier most any food stuff could be obtain with proper notice. Even so, her response was odd.

"Eggs? Ummm…" Amy bit the right side of her lower lip and looked off into an unfocused distance, curling and uncurling a lock of her long tresses around a couple of fingers, "Yes, well, sure I suppose I could get eggs." She refocused on my. "Enough to have a meal?" She sounded like that was a lot.

"Well, uh, yeah." I said with uncertainty. "I know it make take a day or two, but you said to just ask for what we wanted. And I figure eggs are pretty common, right?"

The dryad just nodded, again focused off in deep thought, and melded into the kitchen wall.

I could not guess why the eggs seemed like a complex logistics problem for Amy. I made a mental note to try and discuss it with her later, as the group had a more pressing matter.

We got to 'work' over our breakfast of salad and oatmeal—each with mixed nuts and dried berries. The others had decided we need to add a little more to the Hollow. Gavin and my two votes would not have affected the majority decision, had we been around for the decision making instead of working. The situation reminded me of one of the major social downfalls to working night shifts, most everyone else is working days and getting together to make plans or have fun while you are toiling away. This time, however, the exclusion was fine, since both the fireman and I supported it anyway.

The process was basically the same as when we claimed Amy's Oak as our hollow—everyone touched the tree and focused. During the claiming we gave some part of ourselves and Amy directed that gift to shape the rooms, protections, and amenities of the hollow. Again we each gave some little indescribable part of ourselves, it was definitely not wyrd or a glamour. Wyrd is harvested from the emotions others—normal, mortal others, what we gave was not emotions. The closest I can come to an explanation is that we gave some of our personal unrealized potential.

First we added a bit more to the defenses. As Amy directed our wills, the only visual result was a slightly spikier, gothic appearance to the architectural aspects of the tree-house. However, there was an underlying sense of greater fortitude on a metaphysical level.

The second upgrade was the more complicated one. It took one full day, nonstop. No sleep. Amy brought us food and hand fed us. Our connection to Amy also allowed her to keep us awake, in essence she did not let us realize we were tired. Relieving ourselves was the only time we could leave the circle of the trunk—and then we still had to keep at least one hand on the tree, or a wall, at all times. Not impossible, but trickier than it sounds.

However, the payoff for the inconveniences was spectacular… We opened a Door.


	11. Chapter 11

Day 11, November 18th

All nine…well ten of us, counting Amy, were tired, yet not as much as I had expected to be. The Door was in place. In the oak that is Amaryllis, in what I tend to think of as the basement, the simple Door was a new feature on the western side of the circular room. According to Amy, technically the chamber was at ground level and in her trunk. But then technically, the dryad has also said that her trunk is solid through, regardless of having a room within it. I consider it the basement simply because we have no doors from the Hedge outside into the room and we must go down from the entry level to reach it. Sol's room is down one more flight, which I call the sub basement and Amt calls her roots. In fairness, I think of my room as the attic, occasionally.

From in the tree the door looks like any other, sturdy and oaken. The other side is where the spectacle happens. The other side was Las Vegas, Nevada. We had discussed several options London, New York, Miami, the remote wilds of Colorado, anywhere in California, Hawaii, and others.

Amy had eventually assured us, "Additional other portals may be opened later, as your desires dictate… With effort the destination of the passage you open now may even be moved."

"Effort?" Tallwind voiced the question we all had. "What kind of effort?"

The statuesque wood woman considered her answer, then shrugged her well defined shoulders. "Time mostly. Creating the portal will require a full day and some more of your energies, as when we first bonded. Moving the portal requires two days to safely dissolve the passage, then another day to recreate it to a new locale. However, the initial energies employed will simply be recycled."

We decided that for this first attempt we wanted more civilization than Athens offered. We also wanted someplace touristy enough that we could blend in easily, but with inexpensive options for food and the like. That left us with Miami, New York, or Vegas. We dropped London, because none of us were confident that it met our criteria. None of us loved the Miami option and only Rai really advocated New York and although for him it was more contribution than any other dialog, his reasons were still not much more than "I think it should be New York"..

Eight of us stepped through—all except for Rai, who was pouting about not getting a door to New York. Rai would not express why he was so against Las Vegas and we did ask several times, which was another critical reason for not voting in favor of his New York suggestion. Privately I suspected that Rai had family in New York, or at least had visited that city enough to know it's layout, and he feared a city he did not know, like Vegas.

Since none of us were familiar enough with Las Vegas we had to rely on the magic of the Hollow to place that end of the door somewhere safe. Amy assured us that as long as at least one of us had a strong mental image of a new location, that would be enough to guarantee an accurate repositioning. As soon as we were through, Tegan, Wade, and Tallwind said, "Red Rock Canyon," almost in unison. I recognized it too, from a million car commercials; I just did not know it's name. Although, I was less inclined to concern myself with that kind of identification, having just effectively teleported hundreds of miles!

In retrospect, I recognize that we were all coping with the impossible travel in our own ways. The gruff private detective Tallwind, often rigid ROTC cadet Tegan, and stern faced fencing instructor Wade tried to cling to familiar things and place themselves mentally in space. Runner of hairy limbs and long whiskers moved in short quick bursts from nearby rock to nearby scrub brush and so forth, touching or sniffing each briefly before moving on to the next. Sallow Sol clung to the shadows of the bluff and looked around in wonder. Russel the mooch just tagged along near Tallwind and acted like nothing unusual was going on. Gravelly Gavin and my illuminated self focused on each other and our companions, I can not say if it was for the same reason, for my part I worried that I would be reeling if I thought to long or hard about what we had accomplished.

I was becoming quite adept at letting astonishing magical phenomena wash over me, so that I might be able to continue forward, rather than become engrossed in each new impossible moment.

The sun was just rising in the desert, so most of the landscape was in shadow with a clear, almost turquoise, sky above. Even though it was technically three hours earlier, that Athens, the temperature was what we had been experiencing in mid afternoon. Although, the temperature was not far off from the Hedge around Amy's oak tree—as mortal Athens was clearly edging into winter, Hedge Athens clung firmly to high autumn. We took five or ten minutes to adjust to the new environment, removing jackets, loosening collars, making certain we could get back in and out of the door we had made, and so forth.

From this side, our 'door' was a niche in the side of a bluff, still ground level, thankfully. There was a boulder in front of the niche. When we touched the boulder correctly it would swing open or shut. We all memorized the area thoroughly and practiced opening the boulder. Then, still noting as many land marks as possible, we headed away from the door.

Even though the early morning of November in Las Vegas was similarly chilly to where we had left, we knew that would not last. We estimated high seventies or low eighties by midday and were not sure how long we would be outside and on foot. Sol had brought an umbrella to use as a parasol, she still looked waxy and ill when out in daylight, but the portable shadow seemed to at least comfort her and keep her spirits up.

I had left my coat in the oak, so I pulled out the wooden camping matches I had bought from the Fu's Liquor store. I lit one, focused on the right glamour, and spit the flame out. My glamour enrobed me in a comfortable room temperature and the catch or spitting on a spark saved me from expending any of my stored wyrd.

I was glad that others in my party were content to lead. I spent my time partially trying to memorize my way back to our special door. Tallwind, Runner, and Gavin were doing the same and pointing out landmarks as went to help the rest of us. The rest of my attention was for the overwhelming scenery, TV and movies do not do it justice. The size and shape of rock formations and plants were enough to make me feel I was on an alien planet, the vibrant colors (slightly different than earth and vegetation in Ohio) only exaggerated the effect- not to mention the lack of other people.

Since our two most scar covered companions, Wade and Tallwind, had visited Red Rock in their unchanged lives, they had a rough idea of how to find the road (I-250) man had made through this national park. The completely unblemished Tegan had the same pre-change experience, plus wilderness training and a preternatural sense of the easiest direction from our door.

The green-eyed guide had acquired a sense of the Hedge, or a glamour, that the rest of us-except for Rai—had not. However, other than knowing which way to strike out from the magic portal, Tegan seemed to rely on her mundane skills to help lead us. Thus, I believe the Nevada side of our door was not in fact within the Hedge.

As we rubbernecked our way along, we saw a few other fae—a lemur in a vest, leaning against a cactus and drinking front a canteen. Two men, all red and bald with a ring of horns around their heads stood a distance away from us. We passed close enough to the lemur to wave politely. The two devilish-looking fellows were high up a bluff. We came upon the paved interstate in short order. From there it was only a five or ten minute walk to the visitors' center, where we were able to catch a bus into the city.

At $14.95, plus tax, per one way bus fair, getting to and from Vegas looked like it might get pretty expensive pretty quick. So, we all intended to try and find a nice out of the way place to which we could move our magical door. Even with Amy's forewarning that the process would take three full days, we still seriously considered it.

Our group took up most of the air-conditioned bus. My Summer's Embrace had wore off as we entered the visitors area of the park and I had decided to experience the temperatures as they were until they became unpleasant. There were a couple of unchanged people in the front and another changeling that sat nearer to us. He had deep blue skin and a bright white smile that showed elongated canines. He wore a panama hat, sunglasses on a cord, a camera around his neck, cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a Hawaiian shirt. I do not recall his name, but the blue chap was friendly and helpful. He was surprised that we were all together.

I was reminded of the forward man in the Law section of Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves that I met when I had been seeking materials on redcaps. At least this fellow did not seem nearly as posed and proper. Although I did privately question the man's taste when he started flirting with Sol, when Tegan was as close.

"Have you some venture here?" the cobalt-cooler man asked politely, in an accent that seemed European mixed with something more exotic.

"We're just visiting." Wade took the lead for us, "We had the opportunity open up, so we took it."

The rest of us smiled and nodded confirmation.

"Ah, yes, it is lovely in this territory." Blue suggested, glancing out the window over Wade's sturdy shoulder.

"Is this your first visit?" Wade asked.

"No," the sharp white smile replied in cheerful rolling tones, "I try to come by every so often."

"Is there anything that you would recommend that we should do or see," our spokes swordsman's lowered his voice briefly, "or avoid or watch out for?" his voice returned to normal, "while we're here?"

Blue considered a moment. "Well, that depends on your interests. If you are mainly interested in the rush of human emotion, the casinos are all quite good. Of course, you should take care to be respectful at Mandalay Bay. If you are more inclined to something more dangerous," he purred the word, "there are a few places to go; the drains, for example."

"Oh, really?" Sol asked, excited and flirty, she leaned over the back of the seat next to Blue to join the conversation. The pale woman's manner and appearance had risen fast once we were within the cooled bus with thoroughly tinted windows.

"Certainly," the dark blue fellow continued to purr as he flirted back. "It would be my pleasure to show you sometime."

"Uh," Tegan cut in. I could not tell of she was jealous, or just trying to stay on topic. "Why's Mandalay Bay special? Is there a group of…" she paused clearly trying to think of a euphemism for changelings.

Blue got the idea and seemed surprised at our naïveté. He remained friendly and cheerful though. In a lowered voice, "The Golden Duchy is there, yes."

Sol had slid slinkily into the seat next to the blue tourist and had a few low murmured private words. The rest of us rode the rest of the way in contemplation.

We disembarked at the Venetian Casino and went in. The entry way was pumped full of artificial floral scented perfume and Tegan collapsed shortly after passing trough the doors. Our much more fragrant lady rallied in seconds, but remained woozy while in the marble-encrusted building.

Each of us spotted a handful of what must have been other Spirit Touched take note of our party. The strangers all seemed to be employed by the Venetian in various ways—a pale-haunted store clerk, a living statue in the wide hall, another dark-eyed pale-skinned individual as a gondolier. In truth I was surprised when Sol chose not to stay and explore the Venetian, so many of the staff appeared to be cut from the same palid eerie attractiveness as was she.

We had a quick confab and decided to move on and split up. None of us liked what Tegan's reaction to the perfume might mean, or the looks we had received from the strange fae that worked there. We verified our phones were working and set up several places and times to meet. Then we departed the Venetian and headed of in ones and twos, to explored the Strip.

We had agreed that we mostly wanted to get a lay of the land. So, splitting up seemed like the quickest way to cover the most ground. It should not have been a surprise that there was a court of changelings here, but it did mean we wanted to get a sense of who held what territory and how we might fit in. We all felt that the Venetian counted as a big unwelcome sign and we really wanted to know sooner than later if all the casinos shared the attitude.

Our blue tourist was certainly right about the harvesting. In every casino it took only a little time to find someone enraged that their fool proof system failed, or that their spouse's fool proof system had failed, or that their fiancée had cheated with a hooker, or whatever it happened to be. Later, my comrades claimed as much success finding their preferred emotions and for many of the same reasons.

I wandered through a half dozen or so casinos. At each location I saw at least a few changelings, at one or two there were dozens. And that only accounted for the easily identified fae—half animal, flaming hair, scales, or some unnatural color—there were probably plenty more like Tegan or myself who looked pretty normal from a distance (if Tegan's devastating looks may be called normal). Most of the time the other Spirit Touched were working as dealer, waitrons, or entertainers, however there was always at least one or two that seemed to be as much a tourist as me or the blue bus passenger.

I saw only a very few changelings while pressing through the teeming masses outside, moving from one gambling resort to another. Outside everyone simply seemed to have their heads down defensively, trying to get the hell our of the relentless crowd.

While I did often catch a look or two from the unknown changelings, the impression I got was generally of curiosity, rather than the Venetian's disdainful hostility. So, I was heartened that Sin City might not be as unwelcoming as that first casinos impression had implied. When I eventually regrouped with my other Hollow-mates, they all reported similar observations.

It was Tallwind that observed, "Well eight of us did show up outa nowhere. I bet any changelings at any of the casinos would have been worried we were a gang bent on mischief."

"Or," our auburn-coifed lady suggested, "we just looked like a bunch of embarrassing rubes. Either way, I think traveling in a large pack is what got us the negative glance."

"I buy that," I half shrugged, "but it's still possible the folks at the Venetian are jerks."

At some other point, I also tested my glamours of fortune a little on the slots. I won enough to make up for the paycheck I spent on house paint the other day. Unfortunately Wade and Gavin saw me win. When the tattle twins told the rest of the group, Tegan volunteered me to buy lunch for everyone. Feeling heady from so much wyrd, I agreed. At least I was able to find a $10 buffet, so my to-lazy-to-use-their-own-magic cohorts did not eat all of my profit.

After lunch most of us decided to visit Mandalay Bay en mass. For the general getting a sense of the Strip we had been willing to meander apart, but for the place we were told to show respect, we adopted a safety in numbers approach. Black eyed Sol had other plans, a midnight blue, noontime date—we presumed—and puffy haired Russel just wandered towards the card tables, muttering something about a system. Since we were not sure what we were looking for, we just walked around Mandalay Bay, taking note of as much as we could. Tallwind, Runner, and Iron Wade wandered off at various points claiming they would catch up (apparently they felt that numbers safety only matter if we found this court we were looking for).

Mandalay Bay had been much like all the other casinos I had seen thus far, shiny neon rich areas full of bells and whistles and slot machines, wide open marbled halls for access to check in desks or stores or restaurants, 24 hour nightclubs and feature act theater tickets discreetly off to the side. Except for the gambling, the entries to the various eateries or show spaces were always nice, but seemed small. Although some places did offer tantalizing peaks inside, like the restaurant in Mandalay Bay were attractive women in outfits that were like tuxedos except showing their bare legs, were rose and fell on massive bunji cords inside a three story wine rack and selected vintages for the diners. Mandalay Bay did have one feature that I felt immediately set it above the other casinos, the amounts of cigarette smoke and slot machine noises were dramatically less than any place else we had visited—perhaps do to the greater abundance of potted and hanging plants.

When Gavin, Tegan, and I got to the Aquarium, we knew we had found our goal. The ticket booth was being run by a lady with snake eyes. The line was fairly short, so we waited and phoned our allies that had wandered off. When we approached the booth, the attendant's forked tongue flicked out once—tasting our auras perhaps. She asked if we wanted backstage passes. It was $25 for a three-day pass. We all had to get one. Had to, our curiosities would allow for no less. We studied our laminated passes for any contractual fine print. Satisfied, we draped the affixed lanyards around our necks and headed into the aquarium exhibit.

If I had not so recently found myself living with actual magic, then I would have been far more impressed with the displays. Even just the sheer number of ocean dwellers that had been successfully relocated to the heart of the desert was amazing—the aquarium is named Shark Reef and had several of almost every variety of shark, as well as dozens of habitats full of other sea scenes. At one point we passed through a tunnel of glass on either side and above, on the other side sharks swap like eerie clouds. As it was, I instead wondered if any of it had happened through mundane ingenuity. Whatever the case, it was all pretty and interesting. About three quarters of the way through, there was an alcove that none or the unchanged patrons seemed to notice.

In the alcove, there was an archway. Through which we saw a darkened stairwell leading down. On the interior circumference of the portal was a band of polished metal. Wade instinctively said it was brass. Like at Ariadne's, the brass was inscribed with a particular phrase in many languages. Unlike Ariadne's, the central floor marking read "Duchy d'Or" with an inlaid crest (two gold keys, crossed on a field of crimson). We passed through and headed down.

The Gardens of Paradise (as we would learn it was also called) opened out before us. We had descended for a while, then the last twenty foot of stair was open to the cavernous room. They stairs also chose then to bend into a spiral. The room was very at home in Vegas for it's vast and open size, as well as the perpetual "just past twilight" lighting. Anomalous to the city above, the Gardens were indeed that—gardens. Lush and fanciful night foliage grew and bloomed throughout. We saw one waterfall as we descended and could hear several others. Again like Sin City, there were areas of people and gaming clustered amongst the plants everywhere. Unlike a typical casino, though, the sounds that rose to meet us where soft and natural: voices, conversations, some birds and other wildlife, all mixed with the rushing waters to make a gentle rolling thrum—rather than the constant artificial clanking, beeping, bopping, klaxony of an average casino.

We fanned out, but kept visual tabs on one another. The games had that changeling twist: some were throwing bones for your fortune, while others bet on your outcome. One game was some elaborate, multi-person set up that uses rune tiles like dominos. Also, there was Mahjong, as well as many others. There was food and drink as well, in all colors and served in unusual containers.

I sought out an employ for directions to an information booth. Charis, a cute, wandering refreshment girl (like a cigarette girl, only with snacks) helped me. She had squirrel-like features.

"Pardon me," I said stepping in front of her and reading her name tag, "Uh, Charis? Yes, I was hoping you could direct me to an information booth?"

The vulnerable looking employee blinked her double large eyes and twitched her nose a little. "I am not sure what you mean, sir? You wish to purchase some knowledge?"

"Ah, um," I looked around uncertain—suave as ever—"not exactly. I am new here and this place is sort of like a mall. So, I thought there might be a desk where I could get a map and maybe some other information?"

"Oh…" Charis nodded, but no understanding graced her lightly furred features, "Would you like a nut?" She said perkily gesturing to the tray of treats she carried.

"No," I sighed, "not right now." I took a breath, collected my thoughts, and tried again. "I would like to speak with someone that could explain…" I just waved my hand to encompass the cavernous gardens. "And, perhaps, go over rules of etiquette and other acceptable behaviors here."

"Oh!" this time Charis's squirrelly eyes and ears perked with comprehension and solution. "You're looking for a concierge?" she said half as a statement, half as a question.

I took it. If a concierge was not what I wanted then maybe they could direct me further. I followed Charis's large, swaying, fluffy brown tail to the Concierge Lounge. Luckily, for the squirrel lady, Wade had come over to join me in time to make certain that I tipped Charis for the service. Less lucky for me, haggard fencer had been watching my whole exchange and sniggering at my efforts to talk to the cute girl.

The Concierge Lounge was located centrally in the garden. On a mound, ringed by a red velvet rope and covered with pillows and cushions. Various customers, of even more varied appearances, lounged about the cushions, drinking from crystal glasses or smoking from hookahs.

After only a few seconds a willowy woman glided over (not a metaphor). Her robes were diaphanous and flowed as if in a gentle updraft, as did her long pale hair.

"May I help you gentlemen?" her voice was light and melodic.

"I, which is we," I tried to remember Wade (the only one of my companions still with me), in spite of the distraction she represented, "were interested in information."

"Only information?" the concierge arched eyebrows and tone made it seem as if she thought that was short-sighted.

"Well," I tried to explain, "We are very new and don't know where to start. And we're concerned we may accidently offend. So, if we could get a primer of where things are and maybe some general expectations we should follow… That's the sort of help we're looking for." I consciously kept my feet from shuffling apologetically.

"Certainly, we could provide some basic etiquette," the diaphanous woman replied with a graceful bow of her head.

"And they would also be able to answer questions about local groups and their general locations?"

The ephemeral lady seemed slightly confused. "We would endeavor to meet all your needs."

"And, uh, how much do you ask for this service?" I requested, having realized that this was not going to be a free information desk sort of thing.

"You may retain twenty four hours of access to one of our guides for $100," she said

My heart vacillated little. I felt like I could get the money, but it was a lot. Twenty four hours seemed like a great option, but I did not have the time right then. I decided to return after I got paid again.

"Do you accept paper currency?" I asked, just in case.

The wispy concierge smiled as a sophisticate speaking to a kindly bumpkin. "Certainly, we have arrangements made for such exchanges." Her eyes flickered to the stairs and up. Indicating, they worked with the casino above.

I thanked her. Wade and I went to find the others. Gavin, blocky as ever, was nearby, simply standing and staring at everything, his mouth partially open. The rough edged weightlifter was able to direct us to a grove of bamboo, into which Tegan had entered. The athletic beauty exited the grove as we three men approached.

Tegan had been much more successful with information gathering. As a result, I felt had saved me the money for a guide, thus making up for the lunch thing.

"The changelings of Las Vegas," Tegan relayed, as her emerald eyes sparkled with excitement and the many lantern lights of the Pleasure Gardens, while we stood in a small huddle in a quiet alcove like space formed by some saplings, "and surrounding lands belong to the Red Court of the West Territories. d'Or is one duchy within the greater court. There is another duchy within Las Vegas, called d'Argent, and it is most easily accessed via the Mirage casino." Rose red lips purse to one side as she paused to think of what else she had learned. "The Red Court is currently—and most often—ruled by Summer. The King… Tamerlane, rules from Xanadu, the City Below."

Tegan mentioned several other facts and names that I am not sure that I could recount. Most likely the factoids were driven out by her report that there are others in Vegas. Others than are considered to be barbarians and unbound. Not mortals—as normal people are referred to—but something more dangerous and dark. My mind thought first of werewolves and vampires. Since magic and fairy tales were real, I was afraid that all the rest of the stories were real as well. Wade contended the barbarians could also just refer to the mafia or frat jerks, or any number of brutish or dangerous types of people. Regardless of exactly what these changelings meant by barbarians, I urged my allies to our continued caution.

On the way out of the 'mortal' casino, I bought a souvenir; a miniature aquarium, full of plastic fish. I gave it to Rai, when we got back to Amy. Since he didn't come, to be able have the buffet, I did not want him to feel slighted…. If he happened to notice anything the rest of us ever did. Also, I sort of wanted to try and cheer him up since he did not get a magic door to New York like he wanted. Even though he rarely seemed to acknowledge the rest of us, he was still a big and relatively scary dude, so any little gesture that might keep me on his good side was worth the effort.

Gavin and I wanted to get back to Athens to make our shifts at Elements. Especially, because we both blew off Thursday night, to open the door from the oak tree to Vegas. I do not know why all the rest of them returned with us, but they did, even Sol and Russel.

Rai agreed to lead several of us to Areadne's and Tegan said she would meet us there later to guide us home. Theoretically, any of us could find our own way, but Tegan and Rai simply found the shortest paths using a glamour.

On the way through the Hedge, we passed a snozberry bush, I recognized the berries from the one Professor Dionysus had given me. The berries were roughly half an inch in diameter with the same shape as a raspberry and it was deep, glistening blue. The bush itself was roughly three feet in diameter and height, with brown speckled, dark green, heart shaped leaves. The few berries on the bush were compensated for by an abundance of thorns, half an inch to one inch long with squat bases and sharp, curved edges and points. The snozberry Dionysus had offered me at Ariadne's, while we discussed Fetch had sated me and left me with no need to eat for six hours or so. I wanted to stuff my pockets, but they are delicate like raspberries and the thorns tricky to avoid. I settled for picking three berries that I could carry carefully in hand; one for me, one for Philomena, and one for membership to Ariadne's. I still was not clear on the parameters of what "created by heart or hand" meant in the membership agreement I signed at Sheaves & Leaves. The plump fruit was slightly heavier and warmer than I expected.

As we passed through Ariadne's I stopped at the entry desk. It was later than I had ever been in Sheaves & Leaves. Like the last time I passed through the bookstore at night I was too distracted to pay attention to any specific changes in the establishment, however I did feel the need to move as soft and steady as possible. I did register that Philomena was not there. At the desk—in fact on the desk—was a long haired black cat.

I stopped at the desk and spoke to the cat. "Are you working the desk tonight?"

The cat sat in a sphinx position, stared at me, blinked once slowly, then inclined it's head forward and back slightly. Either it nodded to my question, or it was just a cat, I chose to believe the former.

I placed two snozberries on the desk and said, "One for Ariadne's, you can have the other."

The cat tipped an empty glass over, covering one berry and started eating the other. I felt vindicated in my assumptions and left to drive Gavin to work.

Elements was fine. Dave was swamped enough that he accepted our apologies and let Thursday go. I felt exceptionally satisfied after the anger I had found in Vegas, and maybe a little distracted. I wound up letting a group drink and dash on a substantial bill. Even with the loss to cover their round, I got paid better than Wednesday.

Elements' newest brick-ish bouncer and I figured we would crash a few hours at the rental, mostly because we were not sure if any of the rest of our Motley had checked in on it. When we got there, we saw that the light in the garage was on. None of the other lights were. We parked around the corner and snuck up to the garage window.

It was clear that the Red-caps had left something in the garage. Alright, it was an assumption that the 'caps had done the deed, but it proved true in the end. Something hanging and swaying near the roll down door. The angle did not let us see any details. I thought about the dog carcasses in the 'cap's own garage. Gavin and I both thought about booby traps and ambushes.

The two of us conferred in quick whispers and agreed to assume the 'caps were lurking in or near the house. So, we retraced our sneak back to the Festiva. We called all the other Motley member's phones. We only got through to Sol and Runner. The lithe hirsute man picked up the black eyed blond and headed over. We made sure the yard was clear. Then we methodically moved through the house. There was some blood smears near the front door. Otherwise, all was empty and quiet.

We approached the garage from the house's interior connecting door. The last of the shadows opened the door and the stony fireman leapt into the garage, The svelt Runner and I followed. We had mostly expected a dead animal to be hanging from the rafters, but were still prepared for a trap of some sort.

In the garage we found the wrinkly mass of Tallwind, strung up and bleeding. it was hard to recognize the man at first, from how his loose and fire scarred skin draped over his features. They had bound his arms and legs, hung by his feet, and a cut across his forehead. The redcaps had bled him. The pattern on the floor looked like they had filled a bucket, or buckets, with his blood. He was still alive, but far from conscious.

I admit I was of little help, beyond providing a patch of moonlight glow to add to the overhead light. The horror of our house having been violated combined with imagining that I might have been in Sean Tallwind's place, left me quivering with fury and fear.

Gavin used his ample strength to steady the hung man, while Runner climbed swift and nimble into the garage rafters and cut the cord holding Tallwind. The trained rescue worker let the bled man down as gently as possible. I had some first aid experience and Gavin must have had more, yet neither of us had the chance to practice it. Instead, lustrous-skinned Sol applied some poultice she had in a prepared packet and a makeshift bandage.

I was shaky and nervous—and there was not even that much blood. My allies were as detached as always and I was relieved for that. Their typical disinterest in whatever was around them let these three act undisturbed during a very disturbing situation.

We all got to Sheaves & Leaves as quickly as possible, without as much undo jostling as possible. The mighty Gavin carried the overweight Tallwind with ease and the gently rounded Sol sat with the wounded man's head in her lap in the back of Runner's taxi. We considered leaving two of us at the house as guards, but no one wanted to volunteer.

This time I had enough adrenalin pumping and paranoia of being attacked by bloody headed frat-monsters, that I took in a great deal of detail at the night time bookstore and tea shop. After normal/mortal business hours Sheave and Leaves was still open, however the side entrance is used to allow the front façade to appear as closed as any other respectable business. Areadne's "after hours" has a much grimmer and more gothic vibe, dim lighting casting ominous shadows accounted for most of the effect. Yet, the fixtures and furnishing seemed older somehow, as well. I hoped to avoid this time of day at Areadne's in the future. Contrarily, Sol seemed to get a spring to her step on the gloomy hardwood floors.

Fortunately, Tegan and Wade were waiting in the garden for any of our troupe to arrive for guidance to Amy's oak. Tegan cast her Breath of Comfort glamour on our blood drained companion. Tallwind improved in coloring and breathing in moments, which meant he was no longer at death's door. The scarred and weathered fellow remained unconscious, however. Gavin had even less trouble fireman carrying the pile of wrinkles now that he was stabilized. We followed our auburn-haired guide to our Hollowed home.


	12. Chapter 12

Day 12, November 19th

The Sun had not risen, but the predawn light started across the sky as we walked, not that we could readily tell through the thick canopy of the Hedge. The air was moist and crisp, each breath could be seen in the moonbeam light in which my Lumor magic surrounded us. I, of course, had cast Summer's Embrace to keep me at a comfortable temperature.

Tegan led, slipping and swaying through the brush at the edge of my luminous radius, graceful as a leisurely steam. Gavin clompped like a mobile wall with his unconscious burden in the center of our troupe. Runner and I paced Gavin on either side, I took the left where Tallwind was slung, in case the big guy had to swing at something with his free right hand, I wanted to be well clear of the sledgehammer stone fist. Wade strode and Sol virtually glided behind us.

Then there was a gentleman leaning against a tree before us. By all appearances a Victorian gentleman complete with top hat, cane, and spats. Upon our approach, the tall and slender fellow removed his hat to perform an elegant bow.

"Greetings fellows," the man spoke in the British accent to match his attire, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Spring-heeled Jack." He had a wry smile and dark mischievous eyes.

I parodied his bow and Said in my most chipper voice. "Hi, I'm Tom."

"Just 'Tom'?" Mr. Jack's incredulity and mild offence was hard to miss.

"Well, Tommy. Um," I realized he had given me a full name and decided it best to meet such exchanges as equally as possible, "Twilight Tommy to be precise."

It was the first time since before we woke at Kendal that I had said it aloud. At first the others sniggered. Then one by one as it was their turn to say who they were, they found themselves reconsidering telling this enchanting stranger their True Names. I could not tell if it was my pseudonym that triggered there caution, or that we were doing introductions in the hedge, or some other unseen factor reminded us all that creatures of power can use our True names to bind our actions. Regardless the reason, each of my companions finally stopped using their birth names and introduced themselves by the names I had remembered from our flight through the Hedge back to our rude awakening at the now defunct Kendal.

"Gavin Granitbane." The large ex-fireman waved his free brick-hand.

"I'm Tegan Bramblerose." She had held back and let us catch her up. the shapely woman curtseyed a little for Spring-heeled Jack.

"My rrr name is urm Freerunnererer." The otter-y man mumbled.

"I am Iron Wade the Man of Steel." The weather worn man stepped purposefully from behind Gavin, projected his voice emphatically, and placed his fists on his hips.

"Dark Sol," the platinum blond purred as she slinked forward and let the man bow again to kiss her hand.

I might have sniggered or rolled my eyes at the clumsy theatrics of my comrades, save that I did not want to show this stranger a divided party. Also, I was distracted a little by my own thoughts. With each name stronger flashes of having met them in the Hedge before came to me. We had met on the run from our Masters and the introductions had been hurried. I still did not recall the full name for Russell or Rai, but I did remember the rest of Mr. Granitbane's shoulder baggage.

"And Gavin's potato sack," I gestured to our unconscious ally, "is Sean Tallwind."

We passed some time with sociable Spring-heeled Jack. The man claimed to have been traveling for a long while and was interested in local gossip. It became clear in short order that Jack still had more to share, than did we. As we talked, Tegan followed up on something that had been implied to her while in the bamboo grove. "I've heard that the local court is an Autumnal one."

Mr. Jack confirmed, "That is also my understanding, although I have been away for a while and have yet to visit the Court proper. In truth, the Mid-Western Territories are most often Autumn or Winter. Without snow on the ground in November, Autumn is the most likely bet."

"Is that true for all the courts close to Ariadne's Freehold?" the wily redhead was mildly surprised, but also fished for more confirmations to data she had gathered earlier.

I suspected our shapely strategist was verifying Spring-Heeled's veracity as much as anything else. However, I was intrigued by the Freehold designation and made a mental note to ask Tegan where she had come by the detail.

"Ariadne has a Freehold of her own?" Jack's eyes were widened with mild surprise as he nodded appreciatively. "I suppose I have been away longer than I thought" The lanky Englishman pursed his lips to consider his reply to Tegan's question. He said, "As for the other nearby courts, I could not say, as I do not know the placement of Ariadne's Freehold in relation to the other places… What sort of holding has Ariadne formed?"

"A rare books collection and tea shop." I offered, from where I stood approximately in the center of our gathering. "Called Sheaves & Leaves."

"Well," Iron Wade amended, running one of his scarred hands through his hair, "that's mostly for the normal folk. The seal around each door reads terra Nullis."

"Oh," Jack said and bobbed his head in approval, "she established a neutral territory. That must be advantageous to many."

I mentally smacked my forehead. "Terra" territory and "Nullis" neutral, neutral territory not no mans land. I absolutely should have done my own research rather than relying on my companion's guesswork.

Dark Sol was asking Spring-heeled Jack about his journies. Jack implied that he spent most of his time traveling the Hedge.

I am not confident that we gained much from our run in with Mr. Jack. I do know he gained more than we expected from us. As we parted ways, we looked back to see him dancing with Sol. A few steps, Sol's straight silken hair swayed a counter to the swish of her satin shimmered skirt, and then both dancers were gone. Tegan was especially concerned. Yet, Sol had been flirting with Spring-heeled- she did stay back of her own volition and she was an adult. So, we had to assume she was on a date, not an abduction.

As we were debating the pale lady's level of peril, while walking, we stumbled onto a mound. Over two feet high, several feet wide, and running in left and right as far as the eye could see. The freshly loose dirt confirmed that a very, very large burrowing creature had been through quite recently. Luckily, it was not heading to or from our oak. So, we pressed on with an ear out for digging noises.

Once back home and Sean Tallwind tucked safely abed, we filled Rai in on our travels. He had nothing to say, as we expected. However, Amy stepped out of the wall and was very agitated, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. She would not fully leave the wall and kept pausing or cocking her head as if listening for something from outside.

"What's hrrm the matterrrr Amy?" Freerunner asked, his low mumble-grumble voice tense, his body taught and ready to spring into action.

The tall dryad looked wide eyed at 'Runner, hands clasped before her bosom, Was the burrower a root eater!?"

All of us tried to calm her with assurances that the creature was not headed this way. Amy calmed slightly, but seemed no less tense. She asked us to install a below ground fence, which we took as a sign that we had to actually go and try to deal directly with the burrower. If Amy was so concerned that she was actually calling for us to bring metal (specifically iron alloy) to her, than mere talk would not alleviate her fears.

I grabbed a quick nap, may be an hour or so, I believe my companions did the same. Then we reconvened in the clearing outside with our hunting gear—mostly that meant the same crowbars and similar makeshift weapons we used against the manticore. I did not plan on attacking anything, but had my coin rolls and length of cold iron chain just in case. The chain wrapped around a leather glove with a roll of dollars to weight my palm and it's as good as brass knuckles. Iron Wade did have an actual rapier, though.

I knew Wade had been a fencing instructor in his old life, so I was sure he could wield the blade, but I was still curious, "Hey, Wade, where did you get the sword?"

"I broke into my Fetch's apartment and took it." Wade spoke with controlled venom as he strapped the sheath to his hip.

"Why didn't you take one of us?" Gavin asked, meaning himself, "What if he caught you?"

Wade shrugged. "I checked the class schedules and that he still teaches at the university. I just went in when he was in class… the idiot still keeps a spare key where I did, so I didn't even have to actually break in."

It was a ballsy move and we had other questions about what Wade had done in the apartment, but he waved them off. Talking about it seemed to make Wade angry or melancholy or both, so we let the subject go.

Taking a head count, as we prepared to track the creature, we were six. Sean Tallwind was still recuperating and Sol had hied off with a charming Brit. That left us to wonder what had happened to Russel, last we knew he had been at the oak and neither Rai nor Tegan had led him away.

"Amy?" Tegan spoke to the oak's trunk. "Uh, do you know where Russel is?"

Amy stepped from within the tree and pointed to a large pod-like, cluster of leaves, hanging from out lying branches of the oak. She crossed her sculpted arms over her ample chest and spoke disapprovingly, "He is having some alone time." The anger and disgust on Amy's face prevented any of us from needing to ask about the details of Russell's transgressions.

So, six of us headed into the wilderness. Rai and Tegan Bramblerose lead the way. Gavin Granitbane flexed his mighty fists. Iron Wade the Man of Steel wore his saber. Freerunner and I stayed to the middle of the party. The temperature had raised enough that I almost did not need to spit on another match, I enacted the glamour's catch anyway. And the crisp and crackly foliage still made the forest gloomy enough to need my moon-glow aura.

'Runner, practically a woodland creature himself, seemed a little concerned about the general bloodthirsty attitude our little hunting party had adopted. As we traveled the harry fellow grumbled, "If, hrmm, the thing urm is an hrrm animal, I think, hrmph that I can urm talk to hrm it. Maybe, rrr get it to agree urmph to split."

I appreciated the offer of a humane solution. I was pleasantly surprised that the group agreed to help 'Runner try his idea first. However, I did join the others in remaining prepared to defend ourselves.

Our band found the burrow line. Rai did not pause he just turned left and we picked up pace as we followed the burrow to it's head. Whatever was below was moving a lot of earth at a pace close to our walking speed. Someone produced a length of rope, that we tied to 'Runner. Gavin opened a hole behind the burrower and Rai lowered 'Runner in.

We heard 'Runner's muffled voice, he made noises like an agitated raccoon. The burrowing stopped and the earth at the end of the mound jostled, indicating the thing turned to face our hirsute ally. In seconds, 'Runner was yanking on the rope and yelling to be raised.

Just after Rai pulled 'Runner clear, the creature burst up to the surface. Dirt sprayed in a wide shower. The thing was the size and general shape of a full grown hippopotamus. It was reptilian, covered in white scales with black striping akin to a tiger pattern. It's muscle was like a wide crocodile and it had extra rows of teeth. The creature had no visible ears and proportionally small, black eyes. It was frenzied and lashed out with fore claws like knives mounted on garbage can lids attached to tree trunk legs.

Each of us shouted and moved. Some of my comrades—Mr. Granitbane, Iron Wade, and a little less Miss Bramblerose—were trying to direct the rest of us, although with no unity of purpose. Freerunner and I yelped in dismay, while the panther-y Rai almost roared.

Gavin and Iron Wade the Man of Steel were first to spring into action. Gavin's skin again became stony grey and he stepped right up to the beast and punched the thing in it's massive snout—opening a large gash along the scales. From the other side, our fencer drew his blade, waited poised, and—when the beast reared up from Gavin's blow—swept in and out again quickly, slicing the creatures pale belly wide open.

The monster screeched and lurched to one side, as a dozen smaller versions of the beast spilled out of the gash Wade had made. They were the size of large dogs. While we danced away from the mother's raking limbs and snapping jaws, the young righted themselves and quickly sprang into action as well. Most started burrowing immediately. Four remained and turned their needle-like fangs towards Gavin and 'Runner.

By then Gavin Granitbane had been knocked to the ground by a mighty swipe from the monstrous mother beast. Agile Tegan seemed flustered, but avoided being bitten. I had donned my gloves, coin rolls in each hand and cold iron wrap around the right. I successfully punched the gash that Gavin had made on our prey's snout.

The beast flinched at my blow, but otherwise seemed unfazed. I do not know what drove me to enter the fray at all, but was too exhilarated to consider the reasoning then.

'Runner tried again to communicate. This time he hissed like a snake, or angry cat. He must have been using a glamour of some sort. Freerunner succeeded in scaring most of the young creatures. They burrowed away, almost as if they had been fish leaping into water and swimming.

Meanwhile, Rai had regained his footing, from where the goes initial eruption from the earth had tossed him. The normally soft looking man's black skin tightened over solid bunched muscles as he crouched and studied the scaly beast with eye slits wide. Then Rai pounced at the larger beast, he bounded over her swinging head and snapping maw, tumbled, and struck out with arms and legs in mid-roll. A horrible, short series of cracking sounds came as the big man broke the thing's sternum and tore its right leg off. The creature shuddered once and died as almost purple blood shot from arteries where the limb had been.

It only took a few shouts and arm flails for us to scare off the last few young.

Tegan kneeled over our granite grey companion, her auburn ponytail a bright plume, her pouty lips puckered millimeters from his pebbly face. The pretty lady cast her glamour breathed health back into Gavin. The stony fellow's hardened grey skin returned to it's more normal orangy clay tone and he sprang up as if he had not been touched.

Then we debated what to do.

"None of the young seemed to be headed towards Amy." I observed and leaned my elbow against a tree.

Rai glanced around and sniffed, then nodded agreement.

"And hrrm," 'Runner grumbled dryly, "they clearly rrmph were not urm root eaters." We chuckled.

We opted to not try and hunt them down. Also, I think most of the others felt as bad about slaying a mother as I did. So, we decided, why not let the young alone. Even so, the mamma beasty was dead and may be worth something to us in parts.

I do not recall who suggested the collection first, but everyone was on board without dissent. We took some teeth and the leg Rai had torn free. The rest of the carcass we covered in as much dirt as we could—to discourage drawing scavenges, for we where still fairly close to our Hollow. Then we, once again, headed home.

Amy emerged as we approached. The dryad's usually light, fresh-lumber colored skin had taken on a thornier and more bark-like appearance and she carried a spear of sharpened wood. When our party confirmed that the burrower was neither a root eater, nor alive, the fair Amazonian woman finally relaxed.

Iron-head Wade had to mention the young, which, of course, make Amy nervous again. However, our redoubled reassurances of the creatures carnivorous natures and that they fled in directions away, seemed to comfort the tree spirit—as they had not earlier in the day, when we tried to avoid having to deal with the single large beast. Amy still wanted a set of metal rods driven into the ground around the oak, though.

Sean Tallwind was up and feeling only slightly battered. He told us, "I had gone to the rental house to make sure it was still alright. I had only been there a little while, when someone knocked at the front door. Just as I opened it, the door was slammed open from the other side and something hard hit me in the side of the head… I remember some of the beating that followed, but no details, other than it was defiantly the redcaps."

Gavin and I told the worn-out man of how we found him and the trip back to the oak. Sean seemed interested in listening, so I also recounted our battle with the giant striped reptile.

Everyone present agreed that we had to take more active and direct measures against the villainous redcaps. However, Mr. Tallwind was not feeling up to thinking about his assailants just then. Sean was more interested in seeing the burrowing creature's carcass and trying to salvage any hide, additional teeth, or claws. Rai agreed to take the gruff man back and assist.

Tegan and Gavin volunteered to take care of the subterranean fence. 'Runner said he wanted to get some sleep, but was harangued into driving the duo to Lowe's. My Festiva would not be able to carry the size and number of steel posts that would required to surround our oak tree.

I was also tired, yet chose to tag along with the fence brigade, as far as Areadne's. I had suggested that Dr. Peter Dionysus might trade information for the reptilian creature's leg. I hoped the information may tell us what the beast had been, as well as something that may help do away with the redcaps. Fighting the scaly creature had energized my eagerness to come into more direct conflict with the bastards that had bled Tallwind.

Dr. Dionysius was at Sheaves & Leaves's garden when we arrived. At one point, perhaps even an earlier conversation, the satyr had alluded to teaching at the university; he must teach night classes, since he seems to be in the garden every day.

We sat in the cool dry grass under a sun filtered through hazy clouds. It felt like late summer, until a breeze would whisk through a chill full of the aromas of burning leaves and cold rains in the near future.

Dionysus was intrigued and impressed with our story of the burrowing beast. "Hmmm," Dr. D had a stick and prodded the leg that we had uncovered for inspection, "I am certain that I have never heard of one of these before. However, it is definitely not any type of dragon." He assured Tegan, who had suggested it was some kind of dragon earlier.

I took to calling it a Vermicious K'nid. Until, I found out otherwise, I assumed we were the first to deal with such a creature and survive. Thus, we got naming rights. I took the honor as I was confident the others would come up with something as meaningful as scaly Hippo… Although, in retrospect, I might have agreed to Hippodile.

"However," the goat legged doctor continued, "I do concur with your assessment that it was carnivorous. I also imagine it is highly unlikely that the young will be prone to return." He went on at some length about the trauma the young must have experience and the negative associations they would have with the area of their mother's death.

Iron Wade—who had decided to come along at the last minute—realized that Dionysus was interested in the creature's limb beyond simple perusal and bartered a deal with the good doctor. In exchange for the leg, Dionysus fielded a couple of hours worth of questions. We ranged on topics from local politics (the Court of the region is alternately known as the Mid-West Territories, Hawk Wood, and the Salamander Court), to tactics best used against redcaps, to a few more Fetch questions. Over all the goat-legged man seemed most confident regarding crypto-biology with some sense of current local fae politics. As a tactician, the academician favored the "run away" method.

As before, the short doctor was far more detailed in his responses than I provide here. I encourage you to present him with an unfamiliar body part and get your own answers.

Wade and I had let the others speak first, so they could leave on their errand. By the time the DIY supplies had been purchased and returned to the garden, the weathered swordsman and I had concluded our business with Dionysius. Tegan led us all back to Amy and Gavin carried the several hundred of metal fence posts over his should the whole way as easily as he had Sean Tallwind—which is to say as easily as I might have carried three broomsticks.

At the Hollow, Sean and Rai had returned with the majority of the vermicious k'nid's hide.

I caught another quick nap. The rest of my cohorts either slept, drove metal posts into the ground, scraped k'nid hide for tanning, or whatever Rai and Amy did. Then Iron Wade and I headed back to Vegas alone, since no one else shared our interests regarding the concierge at the Pleasure Gardens of d'Or.

I covered Wade's bus fare in. He, in turn, paid for the concierge/guide we acquired at the Gardens of Pleasure.

We did take the time to harvest a little wyrd en route through the crowds, as well. I skimmed up a little petty aggravation from everyone having to mash their way past through the crowds on the street and a little more from some fool who could not believe his "system" was not working at the black jack table. The emotions were small and I did not linger long at any one source, however the effect added up and I felt the light buzz of magical potential settle into me. I have no idea how or where my stern companion harvested the fear he sought, but he did claim to have successfully done so.

At the concierge station in the Pleasure gardens, Iron Wade handled the transaction. I watch closely for the moment of completed deal making. Had I not been paying so close attention, I most certainly would have missed the ever so faint twinge that happened when my haggard companion handed over his hundred dollars. I would also have missed the slight muscle twitch, the normal implacable fencer, made. I suspected Wade had felt the odd binding sensation much stronger than I, and that I barely felt it because I was only peripherally connected to his bargain.

As intriguing as the new data seemed, it was still not enough to convince myself to try tackling the Law section of Ariadne's rare books. I did consider asking our concierge lackey, though, if the opportunity arose.

She called herself Theresa and she had pale skin, large dark eyes, greenish hair that would not dry, and gills. When Wade expressed an interest in seeing the City Below and learning more about it, her first question was if we wanted to swim there. We declined and walked the long way.

Xanadu functions as the seat of the King of the Red Court. The Queen presides in Red Rock Canyon. We asked many questions of how the court functioned: general politics, the relationship between d'Or and d'Argent, etc. We learned some of the method and obligations of swearing fealty to the Red court direct vs. one of the duchies. It would only cost you $25 to enter the Gardens of Pleasure and another $100 to learn the same things, if you want more specifics.

Xanadu was a wonderment. Theresa claimed not to know whether if the city was based on Coleridge's poem or vice versa. Nor did our amphibious guide know if the poet was a changeling.

The Xanadu of poetry is as much like the City Below as an artistic rendering can be. Key elements are clearly the same, but some artistic license was taken. While the cavern, deeper than the Pleasure Gardens, was too large to measure, I saw no sign of a sea. There was a river that flowed beneath the city, I presumed it to be called Alph, but was not sure if it was sacred after any fashion. The city itself could easily have been ten miles in diameter, considering how far we had to walk and how little we ultimately had time to see. However, Coleridge's "sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice" was better described as a bowl of crystals. From a distance the City of Xanadu looked like a cracked open geode with it's base centered over the dark churning river and it's ice-like crystals reaching sizes of almost three stories in places. The streets and foot paths seemed cobbled with glittery glass, but were merely worn down crystals, and they varied in width while jogging at odd angle to necessitate were the larger crystal structures had formed. Individual large crystals ranged in size from small sheds or bungalows to large townhouses or brownstones, all etched or drilled hollow to form rooms within. Large clusters of crystals had been formed into theaters and clubs, or the central crystals had been removed to make amphitheaters and arenas. As for "sunny" there was no sign. Some phosphorus lichen grew wild in the main cavern and was cultivated in placed throughout the city. Torches, lamps, candles, and the like were used in the dwellings whose translucent nature did cause a eerie glow that reflected off of the streets and other massive crystal high in the caverns ceiling. There was a fountain of sorts, that spewed regularly as if breathing. However the fountain was a twenty foot hole in the center of Xanadu through which the river below geysered high into the air. The more aquatic changelings (like Terrace) employed as a sort of elevator to and from the heart of town, the water shot up and two to three people stepped out while others stepped into the spout.

The poem's "fertile ground" and ""gardens bright with sinuous rills" must have indicated d'Or far above us, for Xanadu had few plants and they were all grown in pots and window boxes. As for "forests ancient as the hills" those—like the reference to sun—must either have been artistic license, or they were long gone. Much as I imagine was the Poet's "woman wailing for her demon-lover" and the Abyssinian harpist.

I will not try to match Coleridge for capturing the essence of the place with poetics. Though, it is a place to inspire just such grandeur: spectral, spectacular, and special. Iron Wade expressed disappointment that it was not like a renaissance fair version of a medieval castle—I almost wept.

Changelings came and went, worked and gamed, drank and talked, everywhere—as in any mortal city. The unique aspects, of course, stood out. The river below and it's geyser in the center of town. Challenges, fights, and competitions were everywhere. One elaborate pub quiz was being played for the deed to the pub it was in. No appreciable vehicles traveled in Xanadu, the 'streets' are far too narrow and irregular.

Sounds echoed and thrummed around the crystalline alleyways and cul-de-sacs, mostly music however, cheering, jeering, and the clash of weapons could also be heard from most corners. I suspect there must be some quiet places within Xanadu, I just did not find them on that trip.

Similarly the smells languidly roiled through the thoroughfares in slow, unseen clouds. Many enticing aromas of fresh breads, cooking meats, exotic spices, and flowery perfumes, met and wrestled with tobacco and other smokes, as well as blood and other body fluids, to create spontaneous pockets of surprising atmosphere. The only breeze came from the central geyser as it pushed or pulled air along with the thousands of gallons water from what was probably the river called Alph.

Like the air flow, the temperature was very consistent. Cool air in the cavern, around the edge of the City Below, and in the central areas with direct access to the "fountain". The other open spaces of Xanadu were warmer in proportion to the number of people in the area creating body heat. All the interior places Theresa took Wade and I were fairly crowded, thus often toasty to stifling warm.

My middle age compatriot and I spent several hours with Theresa. I would have preferred to stay the full twenty four. The gilled girl was politely straightforward and easy to listen to, while the subjects of our surrounding and the politics of the place were fascinating. However, I wanted to get paid for a Saturday night at Elements even more—If Fridays at the club were as profitable as the previous day, then Saturdays must be as good or better.

Wade insisted on returning to Athens with me. I thought he was foolish, since it was his money with which Theresa had been retained. It only occurs to me now that he may have been scared. Either to be alone, or that I might be unguarded… it could have been both.

I was right about Elements. That one night almost matched my earnings for the rest of the week. Thus providing the seeds, that I may sew the field of my next goal's fruits. Two shelters, a vehicle, and a source of income were great starting points. Next I needed to secure my financial stability.


End file.
